DOCTOR E. D. WORTHINGTON.
WSS ROSE ANNIE LAUTERM4°
a MONTREAL
REMINISCENSES
—— OF —
STUDENT LIFE AND PRACTICE
E. D. WORTHINGTON, M.D.. F.R.C.S.
SHERBROOKE,
1897.
PRINTED FOR
THE SHERBROOKE PROTESTANT HOSPITAL
BY WALTON & CO.
INTRODUCTORY.
FTER a long and arduous professional career, the
late Doctor Worthington was incapacitated during
the last three years of his life from exercising the duties
of his profession by the illness to which he at length
succumbed.
To a man of the Doctor’s active habits the leisure
thus enforced upon him was very wearisome, until it
happily occurred to him that he might relieve the
tedium of it by the writing of sketches, embracing
recollections and incidents of his professional career.
Owing to the nature of his illness this relaxation
could only be obtained during the more or less rare
intervals when he was free from severe suffering. But
few as were those intervals they helped to divert his
mind and relieve his weariness.
The articles as they were written were published in
the Detroit Medical Age, and were warmly welcomed
by a large circle of readers, including many of the
Doctor’s old friends and patients. As it was evident
that the Doctor had an almost inexhaustable fund of
recollections, full of interesting incident, to draw upon,
much regret was felt that he had not begun to write
sooner, and many expressed a desire to see the sketches
published in book form, so that they might reach a
larger circle of readers, and might be a memento of
the Doctor which all would desire to have.
During his life Dr. Worthington took a deep interest
in the Sherbrooke Protestant Hospital, the opening
ef which unhappily he did not live to see. Sharing
the Doctor’s interest in the hospital his family have
generously placed the sketches at the disposal of the
publishers, with the understanding that the profits
arising from the sale of the book go to help the main-
tenance of the Hospital.
H.
Sherbrooke, September 1st, ’97.
Th)
- ee |
rident
nd of
upon,
write
-tches
ach a
ito of
terest
ening
aring
have
yf the
rofits
nain-
CONTENTS.
INDRODU CEORY ji saceiscuetasanucanecnssuareroes Gants theverss page 5.
GHOSTS AND ‘ THINGS,” oo... cccccccceeecees eee deta eee 9.
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC, .........ccccccccccsses sesseeseceeecs 28.
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH)........cccccccssecccceeccscceece 49,
DARL PRACTICE holies tay ooturcesatawhecnesetotsilanachewwtes 71.
WaTSON & BELL’S SECTION, ......cccccccccccscccccceseeseccess 91
THE LATE DOCTOR WORTHINGTON, ........:c:ccccccecees LDS:
wa DM or DOT NN
DF ese.nainistlemanries suaresr etree embetter nt vegetal Semen eT
dates ASS. Mh MOE Se 4X SERED 1 DOU
pk » 1K ee ees . L
We ES SLR RK 4 ey eG cstcay
o
ay
rs Wane IAG EER USERS LEIS
y~ nw - 4 . - A
ae scapes opus oes olay aa nog oney abe; ne; ne oao ay oe IO
| GHOSTS AND “THINGS.”
BEING REMINISCENCES OF MEDICAL STUDENT LIFE
FIFTY YEARS AGO.
PINNING yarns, before the camp fire and in the E
home circle, it had often been said to me, ‘‘ Well,
if you could only write your stories as well as you tell
them they would be rather amusing.” But I was not
then to be seduced into such an adventure. Now, how-
ever, that I am an invalid, and have passed the ‘‘reg-
ulation allowance”’ of three score years and ten, the
‘time drags so wearily along that I have listened to
the suggestion of a friend—‘‘Why don’t you write a
story and send it to one of the magazines?” So here
I begin with a series of short stories, which, in reality,
are not stories at all, but emphatically true in every
word and incident related.
10 GHOSTS AND ‘ TUINGS.”’
When quite a yourgster I was indentured before a
notary public to Dr. James D———s, a very eminent
surgeon in the ancient city of Quebec. There being no
medical school in the province at the time, this was
the usual custom.
The Doctor lived on Mountain Hill, in a house now
used as a hotel. It was built when the country was
under the dominion of France, and a remarkable house
it was—and probably is to this day. It was built on
the slope of a steep and tortuous hill, and built appar-
ently to last forever. The foundations had been laid
at the foot of the slope, on Notre Dame street, near the
site of the historic Church of Notre Dame des Victoires,
and the building was carried up so as to have two
stories on Notre Dame street, and two and a basement
on Mountain Hil!; the house thus fronting on two
streets, each having its distinct and separate entrance,
one shut off completely from the other.
The first story on Notre Dame street consisted of
warehouses and wine-vaults; the second was a private
residence.
The Mountain Hill side, on the contrary, was not
in trade, it was strictly professional.
The interior of the place was somewhat as follows:
Passing through its large drawing-room you saw a
splendid circular staircase which led to a glass-covered
cupola, and out on a leaded roof, giving a promenade
ee ee ee ee ee ee ee dl
rea
nent
gno
was
now
was
ouse
It on
Ypar-
laid
r the
pires,
two
ment
two
ance,
od of
ivate
not
OWS:
wa
yered
nade
ES ae
GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’ 11
the full length and breadth of the building, and com-
manding a glorious view of the Citadel above, the St.
Lawrence and St. Charles rivers below, the beautiful
Island of Orleans, the Falls of Montmorenci, and the
distant Laurentian Mountains, with the lovely slopes
of the Beauport shores, from Ancienne Lorette to Ange
Gardien. Such a magnificent view, to be once seen, is
to be always remembered. At the foot of this circular
stairway stood a huge stuffed moose, with immense
horns, a trophy of the Doctor’s skill as a hunter, and
nearly every celebrity of the day who visited Quebec
called and asked permission to see the moose,—Admiral
Sir George Cockburn—it was he to whom was intrust-
ed the charge of conveying Napoleon to St. Helena—
Charles Dickens, the Marquis of Waterford, Lord
Charles Wellesley, Lord Powerscourt, Count D’Orsay,
Sir James Macdonnell, the hero of Huguemont, and
others too numerous to mention. But all have now
gone to the ‘‘ Spirit Land.’”’ Where the moose is I do
not know.
This stairway was used only:in summer, when the
family and their visitors wished to enjoy the grand
view from the roof promenade, and it was always a
matter of surprise why the dwellers in Notre Dame
street should have been denied this great privilege.
But it was reserved for one of the ghosts of my story
to discover that it had not been always thus. In fact,
12 GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’
avery narrow private stairway had been made for
their benefit, but this being objected to by the ‘upper
crust,” it was closed up, and in time its very existence
was completely forgotten.
Before my time the basement referred to had been
used as a dissecting room, but that had been moved
to the attic, and t..e dissecting room convertedintoa
kitchen! Just for the sake of pleasant associations ! }
The presiding genius of the kitchen, old Kitty, was
Irish, a strict Protestant, but, when in extreme peril, |
not above crossing herself, and appealing to all the |
saints inthe calendar. Sheslept in a cupboard-bed in 4
the kitchen, knew what this room had formerly been, |
and was prepared accordingly—every mouse was toher |
a ghost in disguise. ‘Why, then, Master Edward,’’ she 3
would say, ‘“‘not a night of me life that they don’t 7
come and sit across me legs, and dance on me chest, 7
and then lift me up—bed and all—up—up—nntil, my |
jewel! I think they are going to shut me up intirely,
when I wakes wid a scream, an’ comes down wid a
jump. Not for worlds—no—not for me weight in goold
would I stay in this house another day, but for the
Misses, the darlin !’’ |
“ Now, but Kitty, what did you have for supper ?”’
‘‘ What did I have for supper, is it? Just a glass
of beer and a bit of bread and cheese; sorra thing
else.”
«
’
’
GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’ 13
“Well, Kitty, don’t you think it might have been
the cheese ?”
‘“‘Arrah then, honey, don’t you think I am old
enough to know the differ between them and cheese ?
The craythurs, they’d never harm one any way—God
he good to them — but they’ve been cut up in this
room, and they likes to come back to it.”
I do not wish it to be supposed, for one moment,
that my familiarity with Kitty is any proof that I
had a ‘‘mash”’ on her. It used to be said in Ireland,
and perhaps elsewhere: ‘‘ Whatever you do, keep good
friends with the cook.’”’ Kitty was an old maid—she
could not help that—under proper facilities she might
have been a grandmother ; she was old enough! But
she came from the dear owld sod, not far “2m where
I was born, and it was pleasant to hear her talk of
owld Ireland, and its fairies, and its churches, and
round towers, and blarney stones, and how St. Patrick
banished the snakes from the island and drove them
all into the say / |
The family spent the summer in the country. So
Kitty and I had the house to ourselves a great part
of the time. I am afraid that, in spite of my friend-
ship for Kitty, she saw a great many ghosts in those
days, but she was very forgiving, and tought it was
all done for her own good.
A day of retribution, however, came at last. That
14 GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’
kind cf thing is sure to come, sooner or later, upon §
the wicked. I saw a ghost myself, and in that very
kitchen. Smoking was a luxury to be indulged in
cautiously in that house. Lucifer and congreve
matches, and phosphorous bottles were unknown.
Only the old tinder box, with its flint and steel, could,
in the absence of a fire or a lighted candle, be relied
upon to light a cigar.
One Sunday evening, knowing to a certainty that I
was alone in the house, I went down to the kitchen
for a light. A man sat on achair in front of the coal
stove, his feet on its hearth, his elbows on his knees
and his face on his open palms. I had firmly believed
the man servant to be out, but there sat some one.
I passed behind him, and coming to his left side stooped
down to open the stove door. He did not move. Not |
one foot. So I said, in my blandest tones, looking up q
at the same time: “Will you have the goodness to |
move your foot ? I want to open the door.” If I had
had my hat on I would have taken it off; Iwas so |
awfully civil. No, he never moved. I repeated my g@
request, without result. So, losing patience, I pushed q |
the door open forcibly. It opened back to its hinges, 4q
but the feet never moved. The stove door went ‘right |
straight through” them! 4
I stood up quietly, with my eyes fixed steadily on &@
the figure. I had always heard that that was the
sede usgenwonos & EF
Pe ee ee, ee
Er ranant slgtabaeneeeadedeadietexcsanves hae eaeaeataneaaae aT Cee creme nryeaeesen venetian
GHOSTS AND ‘‘ THINGS.”’ 15
correct thing to do when attacked by a lion. I had
seen it recommended in books of Eastern Travel. I had
never travelled myself much, nor was I ever attacked
by a lion, but this man never moved—he was worse
than a lion, and I might be annihilated at any moment.
Oh! for a word fiom old Kitty. She would have
prayed to the saints for me. I had to act for myself,
and I acted quietly—oh, so quietly. I feared to disturb
that ‘“‘questionable shape.” I retired backwards with
my face to the foe — until I reached the foot of the
stairs, and then! then I took about eighteen steps in
three bounds! Never before was such ‘‘time’’ made
on that stairway.
This was the first ghost—I may as well call it by
that name as by any other—I had ever seen. I had
not been eating cheese, and I had not, then, ever tasted
beer. I firmly believe to this day that I saw what I
have described, and as I have described it, ‘‘and further
deponent saith not.”
If tobacco had never been discovered, or if parlor
matches had been introduced, and I had not been
obliged to go to the kitchen for a light, would that
‘poor ghost”’ have been there ?
16 GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’
Years afterwards I saw another shadowy form,
which i may as well get off my hands while I am
about it. It was not in Quebec, but where I am living
at present. Driving out professionally one summer
evening, just before dark, as I was coming to a bridge
over a tiny streamlet, I saw in front of me, and nut
twenty yards off, a man in a nut-brown suit, with a
pack on his back. He was in the middle of the road,
and walked as :f fatigued, so I said mentally, “ poor
old fellow, I must give you a lift.”” At the moment I
had to attend to the bridge, which was narrow aid
had no railing; when I looked up the man was gone.
It had been raining lightly, but there were no fresh
footmarks to be seen, no stone or hillock or tree,
behind which a man could hide. I got out of my trap
and looked everywhere. No pedlar! no pack! Months
afterwards I was passing that spot again, having
with me a man I picked up, and whom I had known
for years. As we neared the bridge he said, ‘that is
the spot where the man is seen.”’ ‘‘What man?” “Oh,
did you never hear of him; he has been seen off and
on for years—dressed in a brown suit, with a pack on
his back. He has never been seen for more than a
moment at a time.” I verified this statement after-
wards, and declare most positively that I had never
spoken of the circumstance to any one. It was said
that years before a pedlar, or backwoodsman, going
wie
pb peed
~ =*=& vp == Se SM
rao _— ,- po POR Aq PRA
form,
I am
living
nmmer
bridge
nd not
with a
road,
*‘ poor
nent I
aud
gone.
fresh
tree,
y trap
onths
aving
nown
hat is
“Oh,
f and
ck on
lana
after-
never
said
poing
GHOSTS AND “THiNGs.”’ 17
to one of the lumbering shanties, had been murdered
in the neighborhood, but nothing definite was ever
known.
* * * * *
For a couple of years, the united wisdom of the
medical faculty on Mountain Hill was devoted to the
case of Paddy Quinn. As his name implies, he was by
birth an Irishman, by occupation a stevedore, and he
was the unfortunate proprietor of a pair of very poor
legs. During the summer months he was at work
loading ships engaged in the timber trade, and if there
was abig stick, or a sharp-edged “deal” ‘“convaynient,”’
Paddy was sure to rub his shins against it, and this
being repeated day by day, by the time the summer
was ended, and Paddy’s occupation gone, he was
ready to spend the winter and all his earnings in
“undergoing repairs.” Poor Paddy—as simple and
good-hearted an Irishman as ever lived—he was passed
along from one student to another, and one and all
gave him up—or rather his legs—as a bad job, until
at last he was handed over to me. I strapped and
bandaged, applied lotions and ointment to those un-
fortunate legs, in the most orthodox manner, for a
whole winter without result—that is, without any
good result. One day he was better, another worse.
What between my want of success and the “chaff”
of the other sawbones, I was of all men most miser-
18 GHOSTS AND ‘' THINGS.”’
able, but Paddy, if not proud of my skill, admired my
perseverance, and always had a word of encourage-
ment. ‘Well, may the Lord love you anyway; you
are willing to try, and do what you can, but what
am I to do next summer when the shippen be comin
in ?”’
I lost sight of Paddy for a while, and when he
turned up he had a line of treatment to propose which
was emphatically new and striking—in fact, tragic.
An old woman from Ireland had told him of a remedy,
and ‘would I help him to try it ?” “Of course I
would do anything in the world for you, and you
know it, Paddy.” ‘Indade, I do sir, but I don’t like
to tell vou what is is."’ After a good deal of persuas-
ion, it came out that his countrywoman had suggested
the passing of a dead hand over thesores on his legs; it
had cured lots of peoplein Ircland. ‘‘Well,”’ said I, ‘sure
that is easily done.’’ ‘‘Arrah then, how and where
am I to get a dead hand?” “Oh, Paddy! We have
lots of them in the house, this minute. What kind of
one would you like?” ‘Faith, then, and sorra one
of me knows, but she said a black naygur’s, if it could
be got, would be the best.’”’ ‘‘By George,” said I, ‘‘you
are up to your knees in clover, Paddy. We have a
most elegant nigger up-stairs this moment.” ‘Glory
be to God! I heard you had such things in the house,
but I was afeard to spake of it, for fear you’d think
pd my
irage-
you
what
omin
*n he
hich
ragic.
nedy,
arse [
1 you
t like
suas-
rested
eS 3 it
‘‘sure
where
have
nd of
4 one
could
uve a
Glory
ouse,
think
GIIOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’ 19
I'd tell.” ‘‘Don’t say that again, Paddy; I’d trust
you with my life; only tell me what you want to do,
and I’ll do it.”
What was to be done was to be done at the silent
hour of midnight, the moon to be at the full, and
none to be present but himself.
The following night would do, so it was arranged
that he would be on hand at 11.30. In the meantime
I would get everything ready.
The scene of operations was to be the new dissect-
ing room. This was in the attic, down the centre of
which ran a long, narrow, dark passage. On one side
was a rubbish room, on the other a line of small
rooms originally intended as bed-rooms for the ser-
vants. The doors had been made, and stood on end,
unhinged, against this partition—in this narrow pass-
age—and here ihe passage abruptly ended in a door,
the door cf the dissecting room. This room had one
large dormer window, fronting on the river St. Law-
rence, and as the moon came up over the water its
light “slept” brightly and beautifully on the poor “‘sub-
ject’s”’ face; the table was wheeled up so that not one
beam of light was Icst. Elephants’ and lions’ and
tigers’ and crocodiles’ skulls lay on the floor, men’s,
women’s and children’s heads—galore—were ranged on
shelves round the room; skeletons of men and animals,
down to Bandicoot rats were there; ‘‘dried prepara-
20 GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’
tions,’ too, abounded; arms and legs, and a few at
full length, were in ‘‘review order’’ standing at ‘‘atten-
tion’”’ round the room. It was a lovely sight, but one
had to get accustomed to it, to be comfortable, parti-
cularly at midnight.
Paddy Quinn was sharp on time, but asI had a few
touches to give to the room at the last moment, I
asked him to sit down a minute and rest himself.
He had a raw potato in his hand, and as I left the
room he said pleasantly, “Well, I'll cut this up, while
you are away, just to amuse meself.”
With a stick of phosphorus I made a few artistic
touches, in the orbits, along the lines of the ribs of
the skeletons, and on the walls, until the whole room
presented a brilliant phosphorescent display. Then I
led Paddy Quinn up, but IT must confess that I did so
in fear and trembling; I might be carrying the thing
too far. It was cruel, I confess it, but I was young,
and always rather too fond of a lark; but I poured
balm into Paddy’s ears as I took him up, and vowed
I would stick to him through thick and thin—like a
brother!
When the door was opened, and Paddy looked in,
he gave a jump back, and cried out indismay. ‘Holy
mother, I can’t do it,’’ but I said, ‘‘I’ll go in before you,
to show you there is no danger. Don’t look round;
don’t mind what you see, at all; you want your legs
I
v at
tten-
t one
barti-
n few
nt, I
self.
t the
hile
tistic
bs of
‘oom
hen I
id so
thing
ung,
yured
owed
ike a
d in,
Holy
“you,
und ;
r legs
GHOSTS AND ‘‘ THINGS.” 21
cured ?”” ‘‘Arrah,’’ says he, ‘‘it’s aisy for ve to talk, so
it is.’’ ‘Well, Paddy. it’s getting on the edge of twelve;
if you are going tc do it, do it; if not, let us go.”
“Ah well, be aisy—be aisy a minute.’? Then he added:
“You are not to look in, and I am not to have a
candle; lavemeto meself, but for the love of heaven don’t
stir out of this. If I want you I'll call.’’ He then
walked in with a courage equal to facing a masked
battery.
I had a little peep-hole all ready, and this is what
I saw :—
The brave fellow walked up in fear and trembling
to the side of the table; he put his right foot on a low
stool beside it, bured his leg, and then—then came the
tug of war; but Paddy was equal to it; he took the
right hand of the “subject” and passed it slowly down
over his bared ley; when this was done he knelt down,
crossed himself, said a ‘‘ Pater Noster,’’ and ‘‘ Ave
Maria” and then placed a small square of raw potato
on the table beside the body. This he did nine times—
each time keeping tally with a piece of potato.
Then he came to the door, and said in a dry whisper,
“LET ME ouT!”
As I look back upon that night, I regard that act
of Paddy Quinn’s as one of the grandest religious cerem-
onies I ever witnessed, grand in its simplicity and
trusting faith. Many a soldier who had fought in the
cate the aceon
SEAR ih RAGE dn Eins ie a
ee
Sa cee eS aie : ~ a
a ma 3 sm fem SG i ee
SF ages i aia 5 Pa Sn a
22 GHOSTS AND '‘TIIINGS.”’
great battles of the world, would not have entered
that room, at that time!
I did not meet Quinn again for two years. I had
been in Edinburgh, and on my return he was one of
the first personsI met. ‘Well, Quinn, I am glad to see
you; and how are the legs ?”’ ‘By St. Patrick, Sir,
you did me a good job that time; they have never
troubled me since that night—Glory be to God !”’
* * % * ,
Next in order I must relate poor old Kitty’s adven-
ture with her own particular ghost, and how its
appearance led to the discovery of the dark stair-
case that had been so long shut up as to be forgotten.
When describing the rooms inthe attic, I should
have stated that one small room—the first one—was
finished; it had a door, and a lock and key, and was
the store room of the house, and a very inconvenient
one, too. If Kitty wanted a “drawing of tay” she
had to gouptwo pairs of stairs to this store room,
which was at the entrance to the dark passage; she
knew what was at the otherend! This passage was
always dark, dark at midday, and she was most
careful to get her supplies in the daytime.
One Sunday evening, however, she was obliged to
go up for something ; it was between the two lights,
and as she was putting the key in the lock, a woman
in white walked up out of the darkness. Kitty hada
ered
had
e of
O see
Sir,
ever
iven-
its
tair-
tten.
ould
-was
was
ent
she
Om,
she
was
10st
| to
hts,
nan
da
i
GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.”’ 23
lighted candle in her hand; a lighted candle is by
common consent admitted to be a protection to a
certain extent against uncanny visitants. But the
moment she saw the woman she dropped her candle.
The woman smiled at her, and said, ‘‘Who lives here ?”’
Kitty, thinking it wisdom ia the face of the enemy to
be civil, replied, ‘‘Doctor D—s.”’ ‘‘Oh,” said the woman
in white, ‘‘And what 1s in that room at the end of
the passage ?””’
This was coming to close quarters ; it was, in fact,
in legal phrase, a leading question; too leading for
Kitty, so she ran down stairs screaming, and when
she got to the bottom she gave way to the most bit-
ter lamentations. She would “not stay in the house
another night ; just as if a dacent woman could not
go about her business without being molested in that
way. It was only natural that the poor craythurs
should be allowed to go back to their quiet graves—
to sleep in pace—and not be mayandering round the
world to try and find where they belonged.”’
It certainly was very extraordinary where that
female had come from. It seemed utterly impossible
that any living being could find his or her way into
that passage. The ouly possible entrance seemed to
be by the big front door, or down the chimney and
out through an eight-inch stove-pipe hole! The Doctor
came in at nine o'clock and joined in the chase.
i,
:
;
i
i
“f
f
i
24. GHOSTS AND ‘'THINGS.”’
It is not very pleasant to know that the sanctity
of home can be invaded mysteriously by a woman—
even in white. If by a woman, why not by a man—
why not by burglars ?
A careful search was made at once, at which evcry
one in the house assisted.
‘In the highest, the lowest, the lonliest spot,
We sought for her wildly, but found her not.”’
At length our efforts were rewarded, and the mystery
solved. Four unfinished doors and some loose boards
stood on end against the partition in the passage; on
removing these we found another door, exactly parellel
with the door of the dissecting room, and which this
lumber had hidden. A panel had been recently removed
from this door, and in the dust on the floor were
plainly to be seen the marks of fresh footprints. As
the door was fastened from our side with screws, it
was soon taken down, and the footsteps followed.
Such a pile of dust, such curtains of cobwebs, and
such a musty, sickening smell! But down we went in
Indian file—the stair was too narrow to admit of any
other line of march—until at last we heard voices, and
saw a light through a keyhole. The Doctor knocked
and a woman within said, ‘‘Oh, Missus, don’t let them
in; it’s me they’re afther.”” But the Missus opened the
door and the mystery was explained. While the family
were out in the afternoon, the servant girl being of
as
ee me Bn
ae AL is arse te nk ara ora
PROCS ARR es FS
¥
_—
al
Si MS
. a
ere te as
|
ine
GHOSTS AND “ THINGS.”’ 25
an enquiring turn of mind, determined to open a door
in a deserted corner and see what was beyond, ‘No
sooner said than done.’’ She had her reward in a
stairway full of dust and cobwebs. Up she went until
something barred the way. She had no light, but
groping about carefully she loosened and removed a
panel, squeezed herself through and was rewarded by
coming out in the dark passage above, close to the
dissecting-room door.
Looking through the keyhole made her wish to
‘enquire within,” but at that very moment Kitty
came up to the store-room door. She could at the
same time gratify her curiosity and establish friendly
relations with the stranger; so accordingly, but with
timidity, she diplomatically asked, ‘‘Who lives here ?”’
and “What is in that room?” When Kitty screamed
and ran away—to give the alarm, as she supposed—
she ran away too. ‘‘She meant no harm; she was
only lonesome, and hoped to be forgiven,’”’ and she
was. It was a pleasant solution to what promised
to be a very great mystery. The doctor had lived for
ten years in that house. and knew nothing of this
dark stairway, and the dwellers in the lower regions
were equally ignorant.
The discovery of this dark passage, however, was
not without further result, for one of the students
hearing of Kitty’s adventures, and being blessed, or
26 GHOSTS AND ‘' THINGS.”’
otherwise, with a most inordinate amount of curiosity,
went down one day to see what he could see, and
returned with several bottles of very choice wine.
After having lost his way he had suddenly found him-
self in a large vault, surrounded with shelves loaded
with bottles, and he had brought up a few to sample
them. The result was so encouraging that for many
days he went down and returned with spoils. At last
the poor boy came in one day looking rather depressed.
Most affectionate enqttiries were made at the cause of
his melancholy. That day at dinner he had heard his
father say to his head clerk, ‘‘ John, have you noticed
that that famous port of ’96 in the Duponts’ vaults
has been disappearing mysteriously ? Some one is
stealing it !”
* * * % %
There is a geuieral impression that a dissecting room
is very dirty and very disagreeable. Of course it may
be, but is not necessarily so. It cannot, under the
best of circumstances, be called “home-like” in appear-
ance, but a “‘post-mortem”’ examination for family reas-
ons, or an “ autopsy” in the interest of justice, may
be infinitely more disagreeable.
When one settles down to the quiet dissection of
an arm or leg, or the following out of the distribution
of the branches of blood vessels or nerves, it is rather
a Ms ee
omy Palen : Ce Re ET Mey ea
sity,
and
wine.
him-
aded
mple
any
last
Ssed.
GHOSTS AND ‘‘THINGS.’’ Leg
pleasant than otherwise, especially as often happened
in those ‘“‘ good old days,’’ when the ladies of the
house would bring in their work, sit down for a pleas-
ant chat, and manifest a deep interest in the surround-
ings; and when it was so pleasant to explain to them
all the mysteries that were explainable,—and this was
more than half a century ago, before the idea of enter.
ing the medical profession had ever been contemplated
by the coming soverigns of the universe.
REMINISCENSES
MEDICAL STUDENT LIFE FIFTY “ARS AGO
IN QUEBEC.
| T may perhaps be of interest if I relate some of the
dificulties that had to be met by the medical
student fitty years ago.
The younger part of the profession of the present
day know nothing about it by experience, and the
literature on the subject is scant and unpopular. The
demonstrator of 1894 walks into the lecture room, a
host of students sitting on an amphitheatre of elevated
seats in a well lighted and well ventilated room. The
“subject” is on the table before them, all the parts
having been already carefully and cleanly dissected.
The lecturer, or demonstrator, points out the different
parts—the distribution of the blood-vessels and nerves,
]
i
niuieeimiiaansian et ee ae nt ne) eee ae ”
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 29
the origin, insertion, and use of the different muscles,
the importance of this or that part as a guide in
surgical pratice, etcetera,— and then the student walks
off to another lecture, after leaving his card or answer-
ing to the ‘‘roll-call.’”’ He need not take off his gloves,
and he needs no perfumery. If, on the other hand, he
wants to do some practical work, in obedience to the
prescribed curriculum, he walks into the dissecting-
room, and there he is provided with a leg or arm, a
head or a thorax, and goes to work, and as he works
he reads the plan of campaign in the ‘‘Dublin Dissector”
or some other manual of anatomy. Then he “‘does’”’a
capital operation or t~vo on the dead subject.
He has had no trouble in procuring these necessary
things; he will have no trouble in disposing of the
remains—all this is done for him. Verily ‘ the lines
are fallen unto him in pleasant places!”
Before the enactment of laws regulating the supply
of ‘‘subjects’’ tu the schools, the only possible way by
which the student could acquire a knowledge of anat-
omy was by providing the subject for himself, some-
times at great personal risk. Now and then came the
munificient gift of a criminal, condemned by the judge’s
charge to have his body given to the doctors for dis-
section. His opportunities were further enhanced by
the death of a “pauper whom nobody owned,”’ by an
occasional inquest or post-mortem examination — these
“ae
pees
ee
eon < =
in Sar Tg SS Tee LY
Sn oer the ae Ee tee ee
a
see ae
Bs
i od,
30 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
last being for the purpose of inquiring into the cause
of death (and frequently failing in that object,) and
affording an opportunity, eagerly seized, of freshening
up one’s memory and of appropriating some special
organ for private examination!
Anatomical drawings were, and no doubt are still, of
great assistance to the student, drawn and colored as
they are in the highest style of art. Marvellously
artistic models in wax, showing in sections or layers
the different parts of the human body and organs of
special sense, were made as aids to science; but the
British surgeon never took kindly to them, except as
ornaments. When he cut into living tissues where a
slip of the knife might be fatal to life, he wanted a
knowledge that could be imparted only by the same
tissues in the dead subject. Madame Tussaud’s wax-
works were very well in their way to amuse the British
public, but the student wanted more than amusement.
Not so many years ago it was not an uncommon
thing toread of how graves had been opened in country
parishes, or how bodies stolen in these same country
parishes had been sold to medical schools in the
United Statesand Canada. The professors of anatomy,
unwilling to face danger or suspicion themselves, or
through their students, had to buy from whoever had
to sell. All this applies more particularly to dissecting-
rooms attached to anatomical schools in large cities,
ae a meee a es i
Beats. A ago een Pe me eee
ee se
si Bionic gnu Seats Sigs
;
:
.
a
J
eer
;
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 31
but in private rooms before the passsing of the Anat-
omy Act the students had to get their own subiects
the best way they could,—or, do without ther.
Now and then the assistance of a ‘‘resurrectionist”’
—I call him so for want of a better name—could be
had for the reward of a few dollars ‘“‘and a bottle of
yin,” but, asa rule, the assistant drank the gin while
he encouraged the youngsters to do the work. On one
memorable occasion my senior fellow-student (whom
I shall here call Bob) and myself left one of these fel-
lows for a minute while we went to see if the horse
and sleigh were ail right, and when we returned the
wretch was fast asleep—in the grave— beside the sub-
ject. It would have saved us a good deal of trouble
if we had covered him up, then and there, for as we
drove home he was yery noisy. He sat beside me as
I drove. Bob sat behind, the subject beside him in an
upright position—he was so frozen he could do no-
thing else, but to make him pass muster we put a
‘bonnet rouge’’ on his head. As we drove through a
crowded part of the city, before a brilliantly lighted
window, my companion suddenly tried to seize the
reins, crying out to passers-by on the sidewalk, ‘‘Come
on, boys, and have a drink.”” This generous invitation
had no charms for me, soI gave him a gentle reminder
which dumped him onto the sidewalk, and drove off
as fast as the horse could go. An hour afterwards he
32 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
walked into the house, somewhat sobered, but very
indignant. We gave him five dollars, which was ‘in
the bond,”’ but, like Oliver, he wanted more; he had
been abused, and would have his revenge. His last
awful threat was that he would tell the Bishop! On
this we led him gently to the big front door, where
we gave him him an emphatic farewell. He did not
tell the Bishop! ite had been the official gtuve-digger
for years, ar a too limber tongue might have im-
periled his occupation.
Happily, all this kind of thing is new over—and
forever. My last personal experience dates back to
1840, and I do not want another. There was a rule
in our room, and in that of the French Canadian
students of the old city of Quebec, that no bodies
should be taken except those of persons who had
died in hospital, or who had no friends whose feelings
might be wounded ; that everything should be done
as decently as possible, and the graves left as they
were found—not so much to avoid detection as to
avoid wounding the feelings of the public.
Only once was that rule broken and, sad to say, it
was in our room. One night, in a blinding snow-
storm, through some stupid blundering, the wrong
grave was opened—a grave on the opposite side of the
yard. We never could understand how the mistake
had occurred; but when the dear, sweet face met our
” Ce i ae ee ot
5 lla nag 1S Seis ered ete NS oy HS
PSE ya SLR Te ane cea i eee OEE CS gy Og
pee Pe as Sei a Sg EE gt IA See aS oaks Re SE ae
Cotta aeeae ose reat Sei
OS BIE i
2 m
eS id Laer
Tee =
ai at. hase EE Be egies Sige Pee ae
yet = piso. <~
Qu
mM
—- 7h 72 ed
Tm che ef —
very
s “in
- had
; last
! On
where
1 not
ligger
e im-
—and
ok to
1 rule
adian
yodies
. had
lings
done
they
aS to
Ay, it
now-
rrong
of the
stake
t our
: scammers NT TERT i Sapna ee Seeeieees
ECG Sg - i i ae ll " eae TY OE eh:
Rs. ‘
Sout" Sacer
wee
ne ee i - ROE SES Sasi ise
4 ll ad AE SS aa eat
ph eg pcre“
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEREC. 33
gaze, in the dissecting room, there was a cry of deep
sorrow. We had all known her, and knew of her death.
Then and there we made a solemn vow never to speak
of it, never to whisper it even to each other, after that
night, and loyally we have kept our word. Wrapping
her up tenderly, we at once carried her back, and
appealed to the sexton for assistance. Like the brave,
tender-hearted man that he was, in mercy to the familv
and toe us, he gave us the key of the chapel, and lights.
The grave was reopened and the coffin brought into
the chapel. There we dressed her again in her robes,
and then we buried her, and as we did so some bitter
tears were shed, and one of our number repeated aloud
a short prayer—and so we left her.
* *% * * *
I have recently been asked how it was that we had
dissecting-rooms in Quebec when we had no medical
schools. Why is it that we sometimes have bread
when we have no butter? Every medical man in the
city who had any practice at all had a private pupil.
Some had three or four. The student was bound by
law to pass an examination and showacertain amount
of anatomical knowledge before he could legally begin
the practice of his profession. By ‘“‘law’’ he was bound
to dissect, by ‘‘law”’ he might be punished for dissecting.
Strange inconsistency !
34: STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
Through the kindness of a friend, I have a list of all
the licentiates of the Provincial Medical Board from
the twenty-eighth year of the reign of his Majesty
George III. Heading that list is the name of ‘ Henry
Leodal, 1788,”’ whose bust is to be seen to this day
in the hall of the Montreal General Hospital. Looking
down the list, among a crowd of well remembered
names are those of ‘Joseph Painchaud, 1809,” and
“James Douglas, 1826,”’ both of Quebec. The first
medical lectures ever given in Quebec, of which I have
any knowledge, were given by these gentlemen, at the
Marine and Emigrant Hospital, beginning on the 1st
of May, 1837-38-39.
The subject of Doctor Painchaud’s lectures was, as
set forth on the hospital tickets, which I have by me,
“Sur Art et la Science des Accouchements”’ and ‘‘Sur
la Theorie et la Pratique de la Medecine.” Those of
Doctor Douglas were on ‘The Principles and Practice
of Surgery.” These gentlemen constituted the medical
staff of the hospital, and the governors or ‘‘commiss-
ioners’’ were Hammond Gowan, Joseph Morrin (after-
wards founder of Morrin College,) and Joseph Parent.
Doctor Painchaud lived opposite the Artillery Barracks
—Palace Gate. He used to do most of his visiting in
the city on horseback, and I have a remembrance of
only one horse—it was at least sixteen hands high,
bay, with a short stub of a tail, which when the horse
OS pee el a eee ek be tee Yael Se
AS > | pea o
of all
from
jest”
lenry
; day
oking
bered
’ and
. first
have
it the
1e Ist
as, as
y me,
“Sur
yse of
actice
edical
amiss-
after-
arent.
rracks
ing in
nce of
high,
horse
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 35
was in motion seemed to act as a propeller—it went
around like an ‘‘Archimedes screw.”’ The horse had evi-
dently been a military charger, he was so thoroughly
trained. It had often been a great puzzle to me how
the Doctor could ever get on the outside of such a high
horse, but the horse was equal to the occasion. The
Doctor was not above the average height, and inclined
to be stout; he had a kindly, smiling face, and was res-
plendent in waistcoats—worn almost as looseas a blouse
—of purple or bright scarlet silk, and most exquis-
itely got up shirt frills. Wellington boots he wore,
with his trousers strapped tightly down; silver spurs
and chains; and in his ‘‘fob” he carried a heavy bunch
of seals. When entering a house he drew the rein over
the back of the saddle, and allowed the horse to roam
at his own sweet will. When he came out he called
or blew a small whistle, and the horse marched up,
got his piece of sugar, wheeled his left side to the side-
walk for the Doctor to mount, and off he went pranc-
ing, to the great aamiration of the small boys.
Doctor Painchaud had for many years the largest
French-Canadian practice in Quebec.
Doctor Douglas lived on Mountain Hill, in what is
now known as the Mountain Hill House. He was
educated in Edinburgh and London. After obtaining
the M.R.C.S.L., he went on a long whaling voyage to
Hudson’s Bay; then he went down the Mosquito
SES TER SE SENT TS ei ere
.
aa ac eee mer
& % 4 : Ky z
’
=
36 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
Coast, and after seeing some of its terrors and almost
becoming a permanent settler he went to Utica, in the
State of New York, lectured for some time in Williams
College, and finally went to Quebec, where in April 1826
he was licensed by the Medical Board. It is difficult
to get precise information about this Medical Board,
but as near as Ican ascertain there were five or seven
members, ‘“‘Commissaire appointé pour l’examin des
Candidats pour License.’”’ The examinations must
have been very primitive, but upon the recommendation
of the examiners a license was issued — or otherwise
— and signed by the Governor in Council.
Afterwards the members of this Board were increased
in numberand met alternately at Quebec and Montreal.
My license was issued in August, 1843, and is signed
by Sir Charles Theophilus Metcalfe, Governor, and
Dominick Daly, Secretary.
It was not until 1847 that the Medical Profession
was incorporated as the ‘‘ College of Physicians and
Surgeons of the Province of Quebec,” and all licenses
from that date were issued by that body.
Doctor James Douglas was the most brilliant oper-
ator I ever saw — and I have seen some good men in
my time, here and in the old country. It was not
only that he did his work quickly, but he did it well,
and his operations were simply splendid. I remember
a poor fellow in the Marine and Emigrant Hospital
Me cise a a i RIT TOS : oo
ett o Giiice Patan tt ideas ae EE Naga oa en pea aD eer ene
most
n the
iams
1826
ficult
oard,
seven
n des
must
ation
rwise
eased
itreal.
signed
and
ession
s and
censes
oper-
nen in
Ss not
t well,
ember
spital
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 37
at Quebec, who from frost bite was okliged to have
both legs removed just above the knee. It was decided
to have the double event come off at the same time
— two legs — two operators — with the object of sav-
ing the patient as much as possible. From the instant
the point of the knife entered, until the lez was on the
floor, was one minute and forty-two seconds in
Douglas’ case. The vessels were tied and the wound
dressed inside of three minutes. The other amputation
was not quite finished in half an hour, when some of
us had to leave ! The case did well. No anesthetic was
known in those days. It was sheer pluck on the side of
both patient and doctor.
Of the pupils of Doctor James Douglas, all whom I
know of now are Doctor George E. Fenwick — my life
long friend — and Doctor J. P. Russell of Toronto. The
late Dean Grasset. of Toronto, was a pupil of my
time, but he left medicine for the church.
* * * * x
Moses Sylvester was born in Vermont, but in a
moment of devotion—to his own interests — he crossed
the line and seitled in one of the Eastern. Townships.
He had been brought up on a farm, had no medical
education or qualification whatever, very little educa-
tion indeed of any kind; but he undauntedly hung out
his shingle and practiced medicine for years, earning
|
|
38 STUDENT LIFE IN GUEBEC.
a reputation for pessessing “‘experience’’ and ‘‘common
sense !’’
But a time came when he thought it would be wise
to get a Provincial license, so in the winter of 1839
he came to Quebec and interviewed Doctor James
Douglas. ‘‘Would the Doctor teach him anatomy ?
He was willing to pay what was right. He had
tried to do something quietly at home, but the risk
was too great, and he had no anatomical books.’
The Doctor kindly said to him: ‘Oh, dear, no. I have
no time for anything like that. I have a dissecting-
room in the house, for the benefit of my students, and
I look in every day; but Mr. W— cr Mr. R—, my
two seniors, will tell you everything you want to
know, as well asIcan. You are welcome to ‘subjects,’
books, instruments, everything in the room, so go to
work as soon as you like.”
Then and there Moses Sylvester became one of our
‘‘happy family.”” He was dressed in a beautiful suit
of new clothes, Oxford mixture, made by the fashion-
able village tailor, with the inevitable Yankee adorn-
ment of that time —a black satin waistcoat — black
silk stock, and collars so dangerously high that they
threatened continually to cut off one or other of his
ears. He wore “ Wellington” boots, and leather over-
shoes with brass buckles, and he carried a small comb
in one of his pockets.
|
mon
wise
1839
ames
ymy ?
. had
> risk
oks.’’
have
ting-
, and
-, my
nt to
ects,’
go to
f our
1 suit
shion-
dorn-
black
, they
of his
-over-
comb
—
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 39
After expressing our admiration for his clothes,
finding out their original cost, the address of his tailor,
and other useful information, we gave him a pattern
of an ‘overall garment” to wear in the room, and
when he made his first appearance in it he was simply
perfect. We had advised ‘‘frills’? on the collar and
cuffs, but that part his dressmaker left out.
Then we all took him tenderly in hand, and in a
short time taught him more anatomy than was to be
found in any ‘Dublin Dissector’’ or other book of
instruction! In time we got used to each other, and
Moses, in spite of our assistance, made brilliant prog-
ress. Time, to him, meant money! One day he came
in with a troubled look on his face. The ‘‘ exams ”’
would be on soon, some kind friend had told him, and
he must brush up on the brain. He had never seen
one, except a sheep’s brain, and if the examiners should
be too inquisitive on that subject it would “be all up
with him,’ he was sure of it. Privately, and after
the lapse of so many years, I may put on record my
opinion that Moses Sylvester knew then as much
about the human brain as the Medical Board did; but
there was a certain routine of questions to be asked
and answered, anyway !
A brain, to be of any use, must be had fresh. We
knew nothing then of the ‘‘ hardening process ’’ by
which one could be kept for years, but which, by the
4.0 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
way, is useful only to dead brains —living ones being
hardened by an entirely different process, just as hearts
are hardened. To quiet Moses we promised to get
him a brain. ‘Oh! if you will I will pay anything.”
‘“‘Look here, old man,” we said, ‘‘we are not trading
in brains, but simply for the credit of the room we
want to put you through.” ‘But can’t I go with
you? Can’t I dosomething?” ‘No, thanks; two are
enough; a third man would only be in the way.”
This was about the middle of April—-nearly time to
close ip—so there was no time to lose. A patient had
died that morning in one of the hospitals—the very
thing we wanted. 1 interviewed some men of the
French school, and asked if they wanted the body.
‘““‘No, we want part of one—we want a thorax.” “All
right, we wanta head. You get the subject and give
us the head, or we will get the subject and give you
the thorax.’”’ ‘No, it is the last of the season. We
want a good time, and will go with you. We would
like to see ‘votre fagon.’’’ There was no use in talk-
ing about it, sol said, ‘I’m going to-night—au revorr.”’
Attached to the Hotel Dieu was a small cemetery, in
which was a vault ten or twelve feet square and sunk
into the ground to the depth of about eight feet. The
top was covered with planking; a trap-door was in
the centre, fastened with a lock and key, and a light
ladder led to its depths. This vault was used only in
S G. GR
being
hearts
to get
hing.”
rading
mm we
» with
vo are
y.”
ime to
nt had
e very
of the
body.
AM]
id give
ve you
n. We
would
n talk-
evolr.”’
ery, in
d sunk
t. The
was in
a light
only in
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 41
winter, and its contents — then principally coftins —
were removed in the spring. I never was in it before,
or since, but it had been frequently raided by the
Opposition and was watched. The last time I was
in Quebec the site was covered withstreets and beautiful
dwelling-houses. I slept in one of these houses one
night; and in the morning, on looking out of the
window, I could not see one thing to remind me of the
eventful night of so many years before.
The self-constituted ‘‘ guardians of the night ”’ were
a grocer-man on one corner, and a dry-goods man on
the other, and they used a shed in common for stowing
away old packing-cases, and this shed was built up
against the rear wall of the cemetery. I made a
‘“ reconnaissance ”’ during the day. It was the loveliest
place in the world to enter by; nothing to do but step
over the low stone wall from the grocer-man’s shed;
but it had its disadvantages,— it was right in the
heart of the city, andit was the loveliest spot also
for an ambush by the enemy.
Bob and I were over the wall and into the vault
in a minute, pulled down the lid, lighted an end of a
wax candle stuck in a slice of potato for a candlestick,
got what we wanted — a head — and left everything
as before, in three minutes. Just as I lifted the trap-
} door, at the top of the ladder — my trophy under my
arm — there was the sharp report of a gun, and acry
pie ines rannt-t..tcnies iota eae eect
aE GAL 5 RU Hof ss ove hg, MTNA e
4.2 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
from below of ‘‘ Are you hurt, Ned ?”’ There in front
of me, standing at an opeti window, in a well lighted
room in the second story of the dry-goods man’s shop,
stood the dry-goods man himself, in the act of bring-
ing his gun from the shoulder. The distance could
not have been over thirty yards,— which was poor
shooting, but I will do the shooter the justice to say
that he knocked splinters out of the trap-door! When
Bob came up we dropped the trap-door and retired.
Bob wanted to stop and ascertain the exact amount
of injury to the trap-door, but as my ribs were not
included in the splintering I had no curtos'ty in that
direction just then; we could come back some other
time, in daylight, if necessary! Being always great
in strategy -- particularly in retreat —1 grasped the
situation at once. To retire as we had entered would
be to throw ourselves into the hands of the enemy ;
so we went straight for the opposite wall, which was
a high one. By the aid of some picket fencings around
the zraves, which stood conveniently close to the wall,
we got over, and dropped into the back yard © 3 pri-
vate house. My first feeling was one of intense ° <hef iG
that there were no bull-dogs in that yard. I never had
a special fondness for dogs smelling round my legs,
on strange premises. The house in front of us was
well lighted. The cook stood at the kitchen table,
evidently getting up the dinner. Without hesitation
front
ghted
shop,
bring-
could
} poor
tO say
When
etired.
mount
‘re not
n that
> other
; great
ved the
would
snemy ;
ch was
around
ne wall,
Sa pri-
se clief
| an irregular proceeding, but if the worst had come
ver had
ny legs,
us was
n table,
sitation
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 43
I entered— Bob pulling at my coat-tail to know what
I was about. Said I to the cook, ‘‘Oh! is the master
up-stairs ?”’ “ Yes,’’ she replied, ‘‘they are all at dinner.’
‘“Indeed—then we will go up.’’ She never screamed
—she hadn’t time to. She rather looked as if it must
be some joke; so I said again, ‘‘Don't mind, we'll go
up;” and up we went, into a well lighted hall, and
straight in front of us was the front door. Not even
a child did we see, but, as we passed on our way to
the front door, a door on our right was slightly ajar,
and we heard the clatter of knives and forks and the
sound of merry laughter. Wedid not stay! The cook
was following us up, calling out, evidently awake at
last to the situation, but the noise inside prevented
her being heard. Out into the street we walked, ran
round the next corner, and then walked quickly back to
the welcome of our friend Moses, getting in exactly at
gun-fire (9 o’clock,) and presented him with wkat had
so nearly proved fatal to one of us.
Moses was delighted with the sight, and passed the
Board with flying colors.
Walking so impudently through a strange house was
to the worst we would have thrown ourselves on the
protection of the gentleman of the house—safer with
@ him than with the man who had just fired at us, or
m with the grocer-man at the corner.
SRE TIES Pat Ose iN ee
44 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
As it was, although J did not know it at the time,
the occupant oi the house was the organist of the
English Cathedral, and I used to sing in his “‘surpliced
choir’ on Sundays! Our escape was evidently owing
to that fact!
For the grocer-man or the dry-goods man to have
followed in the line of the street would have involved
a detour of nearly half a mile.
Our first duty now was to find out the gentlemen
of the French room. One of them was a pupil of that
most courteous and gentlemanly of physicians, Doctor
Charles J. F——t, but he knew nothing of their where-
abouts. Hesent out, however, and we hunted every-
where unsuccessfully, and at last had to let things
take their course.
About two o'clock in the morning a dozen young
gentlemen marched in linedown St. Johns street, passed
the cemetery and into Palace street, singing, making the
detour two or three times; then, leaving three of their
number outside as a ‘“‘corpsd’observation,” they boldly
entered the grocer-man’s yard, passed over the low
wallinto thecemetery, and took possession of the vault
‘‘en masse.”’ It was alovely April night, and the ‘stars
above were brightly shining” at the moment — ‘‘they
had nothing else to do.” They —I don’t mean the
stars — had been having a good time in one or more
time,
of the
pliced
owing
» have
volved
tlemen
f that
Doctor
w here-
every-
things
young
passed
ing the
of their
r boldly
he low
ie vault
2 “stars
- ‘they
ean the
or more
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 45
of the ‘‘salons”’ in the Faubourgs, and were glad of
achance to sitdown, so down they sat—on the coffins!
there was nothing else to sit upon — not even an arm-
chair or an old sofa. Then they lighted up and had
a jolly good smoke, followed by a festiye ‘‘chanson”’
with chorus, in the middle of which a persuasive
voice from above echoed into the tomb below, as the
trap-door was raised: ‘‘ Montez, messieures’’ —‘‘Come
up. gentilmans,’’ — and they came up! It was a rude
interruption to the hilarity of the meeting, but night-
watchmen are not famed for a fine sense of feeling.
As they came up out of the vault they were hand-
cuffed, two by two — Noah’s animals entered the Ark
in the same order, except that they were not handcuffed
—and marched through the grocer-man’s yard into
the street, feeling very much as Adam and Eve did
when they were ‘‘served with an eviction’”’ from Par-
adise. Then the ‘‘corps d'observation” put in an
appearance, and one of them—a big overgrown baby,
with a high-sounding patronymic —the son of an
honorable legislative councillor, said to the officer in
charge: ‘‘What do you mean, sare? These are my
friends! Liberate them instantly, or I — I -- will tell
my father.’’ To which the chief replied: ‘Here, Tom,
put the bracelets on him.’”’ Handcuffed he was ina
moment, and marched off with the others to the police
office in the Jesuits Barracks. Next morning at ten
46 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
they were escorted in state to the court house and
tried.
When we were seen to leave — apparently empty-
handed —it was thought we would return later;
accordingly policemen were placed as a watch in the
dry-goods man’s upper room and in the grocer-man’s
shed. Aftera weary wating thesecond army of students
were seen to enter; so, giving them time—as they
thought—to begin operations, the policemen marched
to the door of the vault and ordered them up, one at
atime. Strange to say, they had not disturbed any-
thing, and were discharged witha reprimand. During
the day I called in one of the party, and taking him
upstairs said, “Did you ever see that face before ?”
He was astounded. ‘‘When did you get that :’”’ ‘Oh,
we went at eight in the evening — you went at two
in the morning.”
* * * * *
Before closing this paper I must relate something
that occurred in the winter of 1833. One morning
there was found on the ice in front of the city a young
negro, frozen to death. He had probably been a sailor,
had deserted, and been left friendless at the close of
navigation. An informal inquest was held by M.
Panet, the coroner, and the expense of a funeral was
saved to the country by making a present of the body
to our room. lt was brought there at once, wrapped
» and
mpty-
later ;
in the
man’s
idents
s they
arched
one at
d any-
During
ig him
fore ?”’
‘*Oh,
it two
ething
orning
young
sailor,
lose of
by M.
‘al was
1e body
‘rapped
a up, and when I saw how his face blanched when he
STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC. 47
in an old piece of sail-cloth. No one knew how long
the body had been exposed. Nothing more than I have
related was known. As the body was much emaciated,
it was suggested that it would make a splendid blood-
vessel preparation, so steps were taken accordingly.
In making blood-vessel preparations the arteries had
to be injected with red wax, and the veins with blue;
and to prevent the wax from cooling in transit, the
body must be thoroughly warmed, in a warm bath.
The negro stood upright in a corner cf the room
until the bath was ready and the water of the proper
temperature. I put him in the bath myself, and weigh-
ted the body down firmly to keep it under the surface.
I had to leave the face and mouth not completely
submerged, owing to the rigid state of the body. In
abcut an hour I went up-stairs to see about the fire,
and found everything allright. After two hours more
I went up again, and when I opened the door I started
back in horror at the sight. Horrid it was beyond
description. The man was partially sitting up in the
bath, his head and shoulders completely out of water,
his arms to above the elbows out over the sides of the
bath as if he were trying to lift himself out, his eye-
a balls almosi protruded from their sockets, and the
expression on his face terrible—terrible in the extreme.
I went down stairs and asked the doctor to come
48 STUDENT LIFE IN QUEBEC.
saw the horrid thing, it was a comfort to me to know
that I was not the only frightened man in the world!
What was it? Was it all owing to a rapid process
of decomposition generating gases in the abdomen,
and floating the body up, in spite of what had been
weighting it down? That would not account for the
arms being thrown out over the sides of the bath, or
for the terror-stricken expression! After carefully consid-
ering everything, the doctor could only come to the
conclusion that there might have been partial resusci-
tation, which, owing to causes not easy to explain,
was not completed.
Perhaps! only perhaps. However, if anyone had
been in the room the end might have been different.
Who knows?
There is no doubt that in some of the lower forms
of life the ‘divine spark”’ may be retained, and restored
after being exposed to the most intense cold. For
instance, some fishes, after having been frozen solid for
hours, will, on being put into water, return to vigorous
life. But I never heard that the negro possessed a
greater privilege in this respect than the white man.
At any rate the thing was too terrible to keep in
the house; so, after assuring ourselves that he was
actually dead this time, we rolled him up again in his
oid sail-cloth, and that evening he was summarily
disposed of.
oN
know
vorid!
rocess
omen,
d been
or the
ith, of
-onsid-
to the
“eSUSCI-
xplain,
e had
fferent.
- forms
estored
J. For
olid for
igorous
essed a
> man.
keep in
he was
n in his
amarily
REMINISCENSES
MEDICAL STUDENT LIFE FIFTY YEARS AGO
IN EDINBURGH.
66 AKE up, Ned; wake up!’’ This peremptory
order eliciting only an impatient response,
“Bob” continued with, ‘‘Rouse up, man, it is snow-
ing :”’
Snow having no peculiar charms for me at the
moment, rousiny me, as it did, out of one of “‘youth’s
sweet dreams,”’ I was about to turn over, when my
tormentor said, ‘I'll pull you out of bed if you don’t
wake up,”—and suiting the action to the word, there
was a pull, and a bounce, and a bundle of humanity
mixed with sheets and blankets was fired out into
the middle of the floor !
‘What did you do that for?” ‘‘Didn’t I tell you
it was snowing ?” ‘Yes; but suppose you did, who
50 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
cares? I have seen it snow before, and you know it!”
“Yes, but evidently you do not know what a fall of
snow means in Edinburgh! It is the signal for a jolly
good row. Get vour breakfast, put some ‘grub’ in
your pocket, and get up to the University at once —
hurry up!”) And as he tumbled out of the door he
gave me the parting admonition: ‘‘Whatever you do,
be sure and bring a good stick.”
The disturber of my morning slumbers was a fellow-
student from Quebec. We had been in many an ad-
venture, and may be said to have “‘cut our eye-teeth”’
together. He rejoiced in the name of Robert Henry
Russell, and in having sweet old Dublin city as a birth-
place. Poor fellow, he went to his rest not many years
ago. The scene was in Salisbury street, the time early
in the winter of 1842, and the ‘ meteorological re-
port”’ of the day —if there had been one — would
have read: ‘' Mostly stormy, with snow.” J had been
in Edinburgh only a few days, having been luxuriating
in the delights of a seven-weeks’ passage in a timber-
laden sailing vessel, from Quebec to Glasgow —fed on
coflee, corned beef and ship-biscuit, varied with sea-pie
(full of suet and raisins) on Sundays! For this I had
paid the modest sum of £7 10s; but as I was the
only passenger, and the ship the last of the fleet, the
company could well afford to deal out luxuries with
a lavish hand.
would
1 been
iating
imber-
fed on
sea-pie
;I had
as the
‘t, the
$s with
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 51
There were no ocean greyhounds in those days, but
on my return in May, 184%, I had the pleasure, for
the first time, of seeing in mid-ocean the smoke of an
ocean steamer miles away in the distance. We hada
host of cabin and steerage passengers on our good
ship, the Caledonia, and every one turned up to see
the strange sight, in wonder and doubt—doubt as to
the safety of ocean steamers. Even our captain shook
his head! Yes, even our own captain shook his head,
although he proved to us a few days afterwards that
he was a most reckless man to yo to sea with. We
fell in with another so-called ‘‘ clipper ship,” and in
the wind both vessels had to tack. So dangerously
near did we come at times that the women screamed,
the men looked nervous, and even the sailors scowled.
The very devil seemed to have entered into the heads
of both captains, the ships running into each other—
a collision apparently unavoidable. Neither captain
would give way, though the least turn of the wheel
on each vessel seemed so easy; but no—both captains
preferred to stand at the side and shout out volumes
of sea curses at each other,—as d—d land-lubbers, —
so near, as we passed, that they could almost have
shaken hands. This crossing and re-crossing each
other’s bows was continued so long as to be almost
sickening —so long that some of the best men among
the passengers had made up their minds to do some-
52 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
thing very desperate, when, fortunately for us, one of
our yards carried away the enemy’s foresail, and so
ended the tournament. After that day every one hated
the captain and felt that we all owed our lives to the
chief mate, under Providence.
Russell had been in Edinburgh for two months, and
was consequently well up in the traditions of ‘‘ 4uld
Reekie.”’” There were four Canadians of us in Salisbury
street that winter — Sir Charles Tupper, at present
High Commissioner to Great Britain from Canada ;
the Honorable Doctor D. McNeil Parker, of Halifax ;
Russell; and myself.
The belligerent relations which have always flou-
rished at Oxford, Cambridge and Dublin, between
“Town” and ‘‘Gown,” existed also in E _ burgh, in
an intensified degree. The only other ditterence was
that the Edinburgh student had no “gown;” he had
absolutely refused—always—to wear one. After all,
the use of the “gown” in academic warfare was
evanescent; it soon became a ‘‘cutty sark,”’ or even
worse; but it was useful in description, as giving a
name to a faction, ‘‘Town” or “Gown.” It was a
remnant,—a faint reminder of the class distinctions of
the feudal times. From time immemorial the feeling
of the trades apprentices against the schoolmen was
bitter ; it was full of ‘‘envy, and malice, and all un-
charitableness.”” ‘What right has he to dress better
ne of
1d so
hated
o the
5 and
Auld
sbury
‘esent
ada;
lifax ;
flou-
tween
oh, in
. was
e had
or all,
. was
r even
ing a
was a
ons of
feeling
n was
ull un-
better
A
¥
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 53
than we do? He is no better than we are! He is to
make his living, at his ease, over his dry old books,
while we carn ours, like men, by the sweat of our
brow. We'll show him that we are as good as he is.”’
To prove the truth of his words, if a baker’s appren-
tice — floury all over—saw a student coming down
the street in dark clothes, that baker would cross the
street for the mere pleasure of “brushing up” against
his hereditary foe! Then there was a dust, and the
flour flew, and the “claret” ran. Or if the apprentice
happened to be a chimney-sweep, and the student
happened to be in light clothes, the light clothes were
sure to suffer. No wonder, then, that a determination
existed to wipe out old scores in full when opportunity
offered — and a good fall of snow was as good an
excuse aS any.
Some years before—I forget how many—there was
a terrible riot in which some lives were lost. After
a three days’ fight, both ‘‘Town’”’ and “ Peelers’’ were
utterly routed, and in addition to the military force
at the Castle, troops had to be brought up from
Glasgow —in coaches—a distance of forty-five miles.
Meantime the students took possession of the Univer-
sity, provisioned it, mounted two small field pieces in
the quadrangle, barricaded the gates, and prepared
for a regular siege.
Nearly all—if not all—the professors sided with the
54 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
students, and in the memorable trial which followed,
and in which some of the greatest lawyers at the
Scottish bar appeared, it was clearly proved that the
students were not the aggressors, that thev had been
shamefully and brutally treated; and Edinburgh was
made to feel that if she did not wish to keep young
men from crowding from all parts of the world to
her great seats of learning, she must prove that_she
was prepared to give them reasonable protection.
Even the pecuniary interest to the city arising from
some 2,000 of an additional population had to be
considered.
When I got up to the University that winter morn-
ing, six inches of snow had tallen, the loveliest ever
seen for snow-balls—just the amount of moisture
necessary to establish cohesion of the particles, and
give a black eyeif sent with force and precision. The
University sidewalk was packed with students. The
opposite side of the street was one dense mass, ready
for anything that might turn up. Nothing had occur-
red to provoke this display—nothing but the unruly
action of the elements. Snow had been permitted to
fall, and sow was as time-honored a challenge for a
fight as any incident in Donnybrook Fair! The shop
wiudows ail the way down tothe North Bridge were
closed—shutters up—and everything looking like an
old story.
:
4
‘
‘
4
4
Pi
Ss
&
3
@
BY
‘
3
3
a
a a a
wed,
r the
t the
been
“was
oung
id to
t_she
‘tion.
from
0 be
norn-
ever
sture
and
The
The
‘eady
yecur-
nruly
d to
fora
shop
were
ce an
5
e'
iY
8
st
oy
i
a
i
3
if
er
iv
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 55
The ball opened in the most innocent way in the
‘world. A horse and trap, or an omnibus, would drive
by, and both sides would go for tlhe unfortunate driver.
Cabby would swear, and, at first, one would descend
from his high estate and call on ‘‘any one in the crowd
to come on;” but before a ‘tring’ could be formed,
some youngsters would drive off with the cab, or the
‘Peelers’? would interfere and be roughly handled by
both sides. In the melée the rival factions could not
avoid an exchange of civilities, ending in a big jam—
which after all could hardly be called a fight; and as
for sticks, one could not be raised, or if raised could
not be brought down again for want of room,— it
was all elbows and push.
In extending mutual civilities, however, to passing
charioveers, a few erratic snow-balls would be sure to
hit some distinguished member of the opposition on
one side or the other aloug the line, with such exasper-
ating force that the whole line would advance and
lively fighting would follow, until from sheer exhaustion
both sides retired to repair damages-—to carry off the
wounded, apply sticking plaster and raw beef! If an
unfortunate ‘“‘bobby”’ interfered, he nad to be carried
home to his friends. It was like interfering in a little
unpicasantness between a man and the wife of his
bosom! — the old story repeated, --
56 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
‘‘Those who in quarrels interpose,
M ust often wipe a bloody nose!”
This kind of thing continued, without much variety,
the whole day. But
‘‘ The shades of night were falling fast,”’
and by dark the street had resumed its wonted quiet.
There were no dead or mortally wounded; battered
hats, torn-off coat-sleeves or shirt-collars, and deep-red
stains on the dirty snow, were all that marked that
first day’s fight.
In Edinburgh there is no such thing as college res-
idence. The students attending the University or the
College of Surgeons live anywhere they like, all over
the city,— ‘‘Old” and ‘‘New”’ town. On that second :
day each one picked up a friend or two, hereand there’ |
on his way, until the party got strong enough to =
venture in. The snow was falling fast, and by ten :
o’clock there was a crowd larger even than the day .
before. Special constables had been sworn in to aid =
the police, and cabs recommended to ‘‘go round,”’ * }
so the fighters had to make their own excuses for .
hostilities. |
Just before noon a grand rush was made by the |
“Town.” Five or six students were surrounded, and
the police made an attempt to rush them off to the |
police office on High street. This diversion was not |
a
‘ety,
juiet.
tered
p-red
that
> res-
r the
over
cond
there
h to
r ten
day
9 aid
nd,”
. for
r the
and
» the
5 not
a
eg
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 57
seen for a moment, but when it was there was a
mighty shout, and a cry from the students went
down the front of ‘O’Brien to the rescue!”’ Then
out dashed the hero of the war! and quicker than
wink, down went before his right and left the two
leading policemen. A general charge was made, and
in two seconds the captives were passed over our heads
amid the cheers of the schools.
Looking back after fifty years, I can see as plainly
as if it were yesterday the figure of gay and jaunty
O'Brien, as he stepped out like a knight of old to
exhibit his prowess before the assembled hosts arrayed
for battle.
O’Brien might have been a son of Charley 0'’Malley’s
imi ortal
‘** Mister O’Brien from Clare ”’
or he may have been of the “Round Towers” O’Briens.
Weren’t there O’Briens kings and queens in “Owld
Ireland’? — when kings and queens were as thick as
blackberries ? That was in the good old days of Home
Rule, when everybody was his own ‘ Parliament” and
ruled himself — and everybody else, too. But whether
of royal extraction or not, our O'Brien was a tower
of strength, and a jewel in a fight. It is to be regretted
that I cannot give O’Brien’s christian name; but I
may be forgiven when I say I do not know if he ever
had one, Achilles had none, that Iever heard of, nor
58 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
had Agamemnon; and after all, what need was there
of O'Brien's having one? With the grand old name
of O’Brien, what more could a man want? How
much farther could his ambition carry him? O’Brien
was tall and slight, light of limb and long of arm,
jaunty and dude-like in bearing, but when he shot out
his right and left, down went his men like nine-pins!
In piping times of peace he was a great favorite, as
peaceful as a child; but after that day the Edinburgh
rough never ventured to rub against his good clothes
or tread on his coat-tail.
Late in the afternoon the police did again manage
to isolate a few students and run them up to the
Tolbooth, but before the justices of the court had time
to take their seats (it is said they were deliberating
in another room on the style of punishment they
would inflict) the students packed inin such a dense
mass that by sheer pressure they carried everything
before them, prisoners and all! The audacity of the
thing!
On that eventful second day I nearly came to grief.
I must have got mixed up — most innocently — with
this last crowd, and I never knew exactly how it
happened; but Bob and other friends told me of it
afterwards. They dragged me through the street, on
the broad of my back, from the corner of the High
street to the college gates, to prevent, as they said,
aS I
S
ba
ce Ss == |
fe)
'/ ple ce TE ¢ 7 So on SE 8)
= aA == tt Stl
here
ame
low
srien
arm,
out
ins |
as
irgh
thes
nage
the
time
ting
they
lense
hing
the
rrief,
with
w it
of it
r, on
Hioh
said,
4
By
my
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 59
my falling into the hands of the enemy! And these
men call themselves my friends! Save me from such
friends! I had heard of applying cold to the head, in
certain cases, but this was not one of them! This
case was quite different! They had pulled me by the
collar of my coat, and by my arms. There must have
been a “solution of continuity’’ in my garments, or
perhaps only a loss of buttons; but when we got to
the College gates, my legs—no! not exactly my legs
— were full of slush, and mud, and melted snow, both
of them! And so ended the second dav.
The third day told the same old story. The
Senatus had called upon the authorities to put down
the riot. Ther represented that this could be done by
preventing crowds from assembling and loitering in
front of the University, as a prepetual challenge, and
that this crowd had no legitimate business there;
that on the other hand tiits was the place where the
students did daily and lawfully assemble; that if in
going to the College, as his daily custom was, the
student was liable to be beaten, and when he got there
to be insulted, it was only natural that he should
retaliate; that to expect him, as soon as he reached
the College gates to walk in—like a little lamb—and
leave his friends outside to take care of themselves,
was to expect too much. The Lord Provost promised
to ‘attend to it,” but he was rather slow — proverb-
60 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
ially slow. About the middle of the day, as nothing
appeared to be done, or doing, and as this merry war
was getting monotonous, the students formed in solid
column across the street, and cleared everything before
them down to the High street, just in time to hear the
Lord Provost — surrounded by his baillies, all in full
feather — reading the Riot Act, while a strong force of
Highlanders was in readiness, with fixed bayonets,
waiting for the order to ‘“‘charge.’’ The reading of
the Riot Act was just completed as the students came
down, the crowd flying before them. The order to
‘“‘charge”’ was given, and down came the soldiers. But
O’Brien was equal to the emergency. Taking off his
cap, and turning to his legions, he shouted, ‘Open
out your ranks!”’ and “Take your time from me!”
The rush of the Highlanders was too impetuous to be
stopped in an instant; the students opened out, and
the soldiers charged down the middle of the street,
O’Brien giving the word ‘‘ Three cheers for the Queen!”’
The effect was like magic; even the soldiers could not
refrain from a smile, contrary as it was to discipline.
Even the enemy cheered, the whole thing was so un-
expected. The war was over! and it remained an open
question, who deserved the laurel crown — the Lord
Provost or O’Brien! That night the officers of the
Highland regiment, in a festive moment, declared
O’Brien to be ‘a jolly good fellow.”
LR RE TERE ep ss
hing
war
solid
efore
r the
1 tull
ce of
nets,
ig of
came
‘r to
But
ff his
Open
me!’’
to be
and
treet,
en!”
J not
pline.
Oo un-
open
Lord
»f the
clared
pata
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 61
This Lord Provost was the same who, on the Queen’s
visit to Edinburgh, was so late in coming to present
the silver keys of the Roval City to Her Majesty,
according to ancient custom, that when he did arrive
at the barrier specially erected and decorated Her
Majesty had passed through, taking forcible possession ;
and the street boys were singing before night a parody
connected with another famous episode in Scottish
history :
‘‘ Hey, Jamie Forrest, are ye waukin’ yet? ”’
* * % *% *
The atrocious murders committed by Burke and
Hare in Edinburgh madea sensation as profound as did
the ‘“‘garrotting’”’ and White-chapel murders of recent
years. Mothers told the horrid story to their children,
and citizens were afraid to venture out alone after
dark for fear of being “‘Burked,’’ as it was called. The
popular idea was that these devils destroyed their
victims by first clapping an adhesive plaster over the
mouth and nose, thus securing suffocation without
noise. The murders were committed solely for gain,
no spite or malice acting as an incentive or cxcuse, and
the bodies of the victims were sold at the dissecting
rooms in Surgeons’ Square — a place even in day-time
dark, dingy, and dismal. Burke and Hare lived to-
gether in a tenement in the Cow-gate. They were both
married, and it would appear that the wives knew all
i
62 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
about the murderous traffic in human life. Indeed, it
was said that when the husbands brought in a victim
—often under the cloak of hospitality —the wives
would retire, at a signal, and engave in a noisy quarrel,
to drown any noise likely to be made in the terrib!
game of murder. It is not known how many murders
were committed. At first, care was taken to avoid
those whose persons might be indentified, but after a
while success bred carelessness. Then two cases oc-
curred which exposed the whole affair. One was that
of a poor old woman who, coming up to Edinburgh in
the gloaming, was weary and sore from long travel.
She had a son, a soldier, whose regiment had just
returned from India and was quartered in Edinburgh
Castle. She had sent word to her son that she was
coming up to see him, and, old as she was, she made
the journey on foot, which took her a couple of days.
On the outskirts of the city she inquired her wavy of
a passer-by, to whom she told her story —of how the
Castle had been in sight for some time, and how she
had been expecting to meet her boy, as she had sent
him word when he might expect to see her. This fellow
took a lively interest in her, told her it would be
impossible to get into the Castle at that hour, but he
took her bundle and said she must go home with him
—his wife would take care of her—and he would
walk up to the Castle himself with her in the morning.
r= = 1. iS 4, St)
ene. ae. ee ee ee. ee 2 eee a __)
red, it
ictim
wives
harrel,
prrible
rders
avoid
fter a
eS OC:
that
rgh in
ravel.
1 just
burgh
2 was
made
days.
rav of
w the
w she
1 sent
fellow
Id be
yut he
h him
would
rning.
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 63
She never saw her son, but she was seen to enter
Burke’s house, and was never seen to leave it. After-
wards it appeared that the son had been near the spot
where the poor woman met with Burke, where she
had been expecting him, and where mother and son
had most unfortunately missed each other.
The other case was that of ‘‘Daft Jamie,’’ a poor
half-witted creature, well known to every one. He
was missed for some days, and then his body was re-
cognized in the dissecting-rocm by the janitors, who
gave the information at once. Daft Jamie had been
nearly a match for the murderers, as was seen by the
bruises on his bodyv,— and theirs,— and his cries had
been distinctly heard by the neighbors. The fullest aid
and information was given by the janitors, but the
furv of the populace was so intense that they destroyed
everything about the place, and then went to Doctor
Knox’s residence, smashing all before them from garret
to cellar, in search of Doctor Knox himself. But Knox
had left Edinburgh and crossed the channel !
The murderers had a speedy trial; one turned Queen’s
evidence, and the other was executed.
In spite of the most searching examination there
never appeared anything to connect Doctor Knox or
any of his assistants in any way with the affair. The
body of Daft Jamie was the only one that showed
any marks of violence, and in his case the first whisper
’
64 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
of evidence came from Surgeons’ Square. It was
thought suspicious that Knox should have gone to
France, but in Scotland he could not have been saved
from the fury of the people. He did come back, how-
ever, and for many years afterwards lectured in the
same old rooms, to the largest classes of medical
students ever assembled together in Great Britain, or,
indeed, in any part of the world. He was, without
doubt, the first anatomist of his day. There is not,
even now, anywhere among the old men of the pro-
fession one, who having had the opportunity, did not
attend Knox’s lectures.
Only the other day there died in England a man
whose name was known over the world, the friend
and the physician of the small and great ones of the
earth, who was a favorite pupil of Knox’s, and who
attended his lectures long after these events,—the late
Sir Andrew Clark.
Knox was a man of medium height and slight build.
He had suffered from smallpox in his youth, which
had distinctly marred his beauty and destroyed one
of his eves, leaving an ugly raised cicatrix in the cor-
nea. So sensitive was he about this that he was never
seen without glasses, which from long habit he was
constantly adjusting with his middle finger and thumb.
He had a decidedly turned-up nose, and was bald-
headed when I knew him, and he had a curious trick
was
ne to
saved
how-
n the
edical
in, or,
thout
not,
e pro-
id not
1 man
friend
of the
1 who
ne late
build.
which
-d one
1e COT
never
e was
humb.
bald-
3 trick
Fy
4
;
oF
ue
:
a
fh
¥
4
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 65
of spasmodically jerking up one shoulder, as if there
was an erratic flea somewhere, or as if the laundress
had overstarched his collar or shirt. Knox was a
most agreeable man in conversation; he always spoke
in a mild, persuasive tone, so sweet, and what the
Irish would call ‘‘soothering,” that one could not help
thinking that his tongue had been moulded out of the
sweetest of barlev-sugar. Certainly the winding-up of
his sentences, with a soft, satisfied, half-whispered
“Ah, ves!” and the adjustment of his glasses, was
most effective.
Some lady friends of mive once told me of something
apropos of this. They were coming up to Edinburgh
in the mail coach. When some ten miles out the coach
stopped to pick up a passenger. The moment he sat
down thev looked at one another in amazement; they
had never seen any one so ugly—ugly was the word
they used. There were other passengers inside, anda
lively conversation was going on, into which he mod-
estly entered. After a while the conversation drifted
to the Burke and Hare murders, which the stranger
seemed to know all about ; he spoke freely of every-
thing connected with them, and was, as they said, the
most agreeable gentleman they had ever met; they
forgot all about his personal appearance, so charmed
were they with his manner and conversation. When
the coach stopped to let him out, they were sorry to
66 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
lose him; and as he stepped out he turned, took off
his hat, and presented the ladies with his card: ‘‘Doctor
Robert Knox.”
Occasionally I used to go out to his house at Newing-
ton for arubber of whist. Two maiden sisters, of ma-
ture age and large frame — evidently twins—the only
persons I ever saw in the house, with the Doctor,
made up the table.
Some of my friends used to chaff me about this,
saying: ‘Take care, young man; some of these days
you will be turning up on the dissecting-room table. ”
But I always had faith in woman, and knew that the
ancient spinsters would not permit such a thing—no,
not for one moment !
In his lectures he often alluded to the time he spent
in Paris, and to the savants of the Institute, who had
unanimously elected him a member. Particularly did
he refer to St. Hilaire, sith whom he had had discus-
sions on the differences and vaneties of the human
race. After a trip to the Cape of Good Hope, where
he had ample opportunity to examine Kaffirs and
Boosmen, he returned jubilant, and stopped in Paris
on his return. His researches were so convincing that
St. Hilaire said: ‘‘Oui, mon cher Inox, I am satisfied.
Your views are conclusive.” In giving this to the
class he would say, adjusting his spectacles: ‘ Yes, St.
Hilaire did me tue honor to say I was right,” then
k off
octor
wing-
f ma-
- only
octor,
this,
days
ible.”
at the
(—no,
spent
o had
ly did
liscus-
luman
where
‘Ss and
Paris
g that
tisfied.
to the
Tes, St.
”’ then
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 67
add in a voice hardly above a whisper, ‘‘Ah, yes!”
One evening an Irishman went to the residence of
Doctor Knox and asked to see the master alone. At
the interview he had a ‘‘subject’’ to sell. The Doctor
told him to go about his business ; to go to Surgeons’
Square. ‘No, your honor,” said Pat, ‘I wen't go
there alone at this time o’ night. Me owld aunt died
on me hands, and I haven't a copper to give her a
dacent burial, and the childer are crying for bread,
and the missis has just had an incrase! and,” added
Pat, ‘‘she’s at the door this minute, an’ I'll bring her
in and show her to you!” ‘No, no,” said Knox ;
“take her to Surgeons’ Square, with this note. Ring
the bell, and give this to the janitor.”” The note was
an order for ten guineas, the price demanded. The bag
was not opened until the next day, when it was found
to contain a pig that had died of the measles, beautt-
fully padded about with straw! Often and often after
this, in the lecture room, as Knox turned round to
illustrate something on the black-board, he would see
the words ‘‘Who bonght Paddy’s pig?’’ His simple
rejoinder, as he took the duster in his hand to rub out
the words, would be, ‘*Ah, yes!”’
68 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
The relations between the Ediuburgh student, the
lecturers in the schools, and the medical staff of the
Royal Infirmary, were always of the most friendly
character ; the teaching was not confined to the lecture
room, but was carried into social life.
Imagine one of the great men meeting a student in
the street, taking him by the arm, inquiring into his
views on certain theories, or on cases of hospital prac-
tice, and all so kindly, as if seeking instruction himself;
giving his views modestly and crawing the other out.
It made the youngster think something of himself.
One man remarkable for this courtesy was Christison.
When a student he had been ‘ plucked ”’ on medical
jurisprudence; and as he wandered about the gates,
broken-hearted, one of the examiners coming out took
him by the arm, saying: ‘Come, Robert, come along
and have dinner with me.” ‘No, I won’t; I’m going
to read my Jurisprudence.” The Professor repeated
‘Robert ” so reproachfully that the lad burst into
tears, apologized, and went to dinner. He did read up
his subject — so effectually that he became Professor
of Medical Jurisprudence in the University, and the
greatest authority of his day on poisons! Sir Robert
Christison! and he always spoke of that kind sym-
pathy of his teacher as what had saved him.
* * * * %
it, the
of the
riendly
lecture
lent in
ito his
il prac-
imself;
er out.
imself.
stison.
nedical
gates,
it took
along
| going
peated
t into
ead up
ofessor
nd the
Robert
d sym-
STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 69
I think I had the questionable honor of being the
first Canadian who ever appeared in Edinburgh — in
the streets — in snow-shoe costume.
I was going out to dinner. There was a regular old-
fashioned Scotch mist. I had no mackintosh, and I
despised an umbrella. So I put on an old snow-shoe
“capdt”? that I had worn on the voyage. '* was
seamed with red piping, decorated with ep iuie‘tes,
and had the orthodox ‘‘eapuchon.”” Then I hau x:-und
my waist a brilliant ‘‘ ceinture fleché.”” A stunning
turnout it was, too, but a Quebec boy would not
have looked at it — to him it would have been an old
coat, an old story ; not so, however, with his Edin-
burgh contemporary. From the moment I left my
lodgings I became an object of interest to the street
boys— painfully so. The wretches danced fantastically
in front of me, snapping their fingers like castanets,
and making hideous faces, while the big ones urged
them on. Allsorts of tender enquires were made as to
the extent of knowledge my “ mither” had of my
wanderings. Their interest in me was flattering, but
most embarrassing. I wanted to turn and ran for
home, but the little devils could run faster than I
could. What a tool I had been! How I longed fora
‘lodge in some vast wilderness, some boundless con-
tiguity of shade;"’ not a wet street, bounded by jeering
roughs that threatened every moment to pounce upon
ve
lias ay
£
W
H!
#
;
e
hea
- i alan ey eR Shei > at at TE Said
% SE gta Sid
Sa a ai
penser tr
70 STUDENT LIFE IN EDINBURGH.
me. What would I not have given for a sight of
O'Brien’s friendly face, or even the negative protection
of a policeman? But no policeman was to be seen ;
he was “sparking ” with some pretty housemaid. 1
would gladly have changed places with him, and given
“ boot.”” What could I do but ‘‘move on” and “look
pleasant”? All the way from Patrick Square in the
Old to George square in the New town! Would I
ever — or never — get there? When I did reach my
destination, and urgently knocked for admission, the
servant, what with the howling mob outside and my
peculiar ‘get-up,”’ thought I must be either a mounte-
bank or an escaped lunatic.
Such a shout of laughter as I was received with in
the hall! I was turned round, and inspected, and con-
gratulated, by the whole family, and I had to assure
them again and agair that this was not the ordinary
street costume in Canada! However, it was the first
and last time I appeared in it in Edinburgh, in the
street.
Little did I then think that one of the sons of the
house, present that evening, would be in this year of
our Lord 1894 His Grace the Lord Archbishop of
York !
ght of
tection
> seen ;
aid. I
] given
‘look
in the
ould I
ch my
on, the
und my
1ounte-
vith in
nd con-
assure
‘dinary
he first
in the
of the
year of
hop of
EARLY PRACTICE.
ORTY years ago, or may be even less, a medical
man would as soon have dreamed of going to
church without his prayer-book, or of going to bed
without saying his prayers, as of going out on his
daily round of duty without his lancet-case in his
pocket. In fact, it never was taken out of his pocket,
unless when wanted for use or to be put into the
pocket of another garment. I had a lovely silver one
which I got for something or other in botany, in
Edi burgh, more than fifty years ago, but for the last
twen y-five years I have not seen it, except perhaps
to exhibit it to the children as a sanguinary relic. It
contained four lancets of Maw’s make; the oldest
and dullest one might be used in an emergency to lance
the ‘‘darling baby’s gums,” the next for vaccinations,
Se
RNS A oe enforce
ENT OTST ONS
72 EARLY PRACTICE.
while the other two were sacredly kept for bleeding
only.
I sometimes wonder if I could venture to bleed a
man now, it is so many vears since my last venesec-
tion; but when I was a student my occupation seemed
to consist entirely of bleeding. It was considered the
correct thing to be bled at least every spring — as
much the correct thing as was Mrs. Squeer’s mixture
of treacle and molasses, as a spring medicine, as a
corrective in cases of inordinate appetite. Some peceple
indulged their fancy twice a year, with extras when-
ever they had a *‘ swimming in the head,” or a re-
minder of hereditary tendency to apoplexy, or indeed
any other convenient excuse. In our official sanctum
it was a concession that bleeding and tooth-drawing
were perquisites, from time immemorial, to the stu-
dents, in the absence of a doctor. I need hardly add
that no one ever left that surgery (who was not ade-
quately protected), no matter what his ailment, with-
out being bled or having a tooth extracted. Like the
universal panaceas of the present day, those twosimple
remedies were the ones we relied upon. What if a
wrong tooth was extracted now and then? There were
plenty more where it came from! Or if a vein was
transfixed and a thrombus or aneurysm was the result,
it only confirmed our diagnosis and established the fact
that the bleeding was necessary.
Pe wn ee en ee
ft Sh — =
a!
leeding
leed a
enesec-
seemed
red the
g—as
mixture
e, as a
p people
; when-
roa re-
- indeed
anctum
lrawing
the stu-
dly add
not ade-
t, with-
Like the
osimple
at if a
ere were
ein was
e result,
the fact
EARLY PRACTICE. 13
As a rule, no one considered it necessarv to consult
us as to the propriety of a bleeding. A man walked
in as a mau would now walk into a barber shop to
be shaved, saving as he did so: ‘I want to be bled,
please.” Bandages and basins were always at hand;
and when a good quart crockery bow] was nearly full,
if the operator showed signs of stopping the flow,
very commonly the man would say: ‘Oh, don’t be
afraid; let it run, sir. I haven’t been bled for a good
while.” When satistied, the arm was bandaged, the
fee paid, and the man departed as light-hearted as a
lark! These little financial transactions were generally
followed by refreshments from an adjoining confec-
tioner’s, and consisted of ‘hot eross buns,”’ ice-cream,
and ginger beer. But this programme was cruelly
broken into, at times, when the patient forgot to bring
his purse, or when the doctor happened to come in
before he left, when the half-crown was dropped in-
nocently into the doctor’s pocket, and we were left
without our ‘‘hot cross buns.”
Skippers, and sea-faring men generally, were the ones
who were more frequently bled in the spring and fall
of the year —the first to enable them to withstand the
summer's heat, and the latter the winter’s cold. In
the winter—unless in special inflammations—our oc-
cupation, like that of Othello, was gone, but in the
Spring-time our victims would average three or four
74: EARLY PRACTICE.
every day. Such big, brawny arms as the men in those
dayshad; the veins standing out fulland tense, inviting
an opening! Now they look as though they were cry-
ing out for more blood. Why? Is the race degener-
ating? The old fellows used to declare seriously that
the more frequently they were bled the stouter and
stronger they grew. Perhaps we may return to the
old ways yet.
There was a fashionable tradition among the gentler
sex that the foot was the proper place to bleed from
—it did not induce plethora, and drew the blood more
immediately from the head, and was not followed bv
discoloration or scar at the elbow, as in the vulgar
form of bleeding. All of which were women’s reasons,
and good.
At the old Mountain Hill House, in Quebec, there
was a famous relic of which no one knew the history.
It was in the form of a light wooden cross, the upright
ef which was about an inch square and three feet four
inches in height ; the arm, or cross-picce, was fixed
about four inches from the top of the upright. It stood
in a convenient corner of the surgery, and never was
lost —it was too frequently called into requisition. Old
habitues, even after a three months voyage, returning
on the old errand, would look round forthe old familiar
cross. The doctor was not specially given over to a
preference for the use of a cross, when the back of a
a:
\
:
n those
nviting
ere cry-
egener-
sly that
er and
to the
gentler
ed from
od more
ywed bv
vulgar
reasons,
c, there
history.
upright
feet four
as fixed
It stood
ver was
on. Old
turning
familiar
ver to a
ack of a
EARLY PRACTICE. 75
chair would answer the purpose; but the surgery had
been occupied by a succession of doctors, the first of
whom, an old ‘‘chirurgeon,”” had brought the cross
with him from Ja belle France. Its use went with the
occupancy of the office, and consisted simply in this:
that whenever a vein was opened, the cross was put
into the hand as a rest, having no religious significance
whatever— at least in our day none was intended, but
certainly it was regarded as a relic by many a one
who held it in his grasp. Many a brave man, many
a one with a grand historic name, of France, or Eng-
land, or America, has shed his blood, or had it shed
for him, beside that cross. No doubt of it! Only
history is silent on the subject !
In those days no case of pneumonia, pleurisy, perit-
onitis, or any other inflammatory affection, could be
treated without blood-letting. The moment the doctor
walked into the sick-room, without wasting time on
superfluous questions, he called for a bandage and a
bowl. These wants having been anticipated, and the
remark being made, ‘Yes, sir, they are all ready—I
knew you would bleed him,” the patient was set up,
a free incision made, and a rapid bleeding followed to
approaching syncope, and then the patient was laid
back on the pillow. Strict orders were always given
to put the bow] away carefully until the next visit,
and if the blood then was “buffed” or ‘“‘cupped,”’ or
76 EARLY PRACTICE.
the “serum” out of proportion to the “clot,” a sec-
ond bleeding followed, and a third, until the disease
—or the patient—succumbed! One or the other had
to surrender !
So great was the popular feeling in favor of bleed-
ing, that however the case ended, it was all right —
everything was done that could have been done. If a
poor unfortunate tumbled down in the street from
exhaustion, epilepsy, or accident, the cry of the crowd
was, ‘Run for a doctor!’’ ‘‘ Bleed him, bleed him!”
“ Set him up —if the blood runs he will be all right!”
but, unfortunately, sometimes it would not run!
Woe betide the doctor who at such a moment seemed
to hesitate about using his lancet; he would have
been denounced as a fool, and exposed to personal
violence. This heroic treatment was not confined to
the ‘hoi polloi,”’ but its theories were accepted in the
‘“‘upper circles of society.”’ It is appalling to read of
the exploits of our forefathers in those blood-letting
days, even where royal blood was concerned — indeed,
our forefathers were reckless in shedding royal blood
when the condition of the State seemed to require it.
In the official account of the accouchement and death
of the Princess Charlotte, it is related that ‘Sir
Richard Croft was fixed on for the accoucheur, in ad-
dition to whom she had the advice of the justly cele-
brated Mr. Baillie and of doctor Stockmar, the resident
[fo @ cr ew |
ee ee 7 ; ee ee ee le an EL ° > EE oR oo
be
lege
?
ee
‘pen 4
i
a
_—
ia
a ‘
)
}
|
ily
Rf
ei
a »
+S §
if
Ree
bi ai
7
* i
i
i” ‘y
fie
Le)
fi |
te
he
a a
itt
is i
+4
;
5
F
’ a sec:
disease
her had
>of bleed-
right —
e. Ifa
et from
e crowd
| him!”
right!”
in!
; seemed
Id have
ersonal
fined to
lin the
read of
l-letting
- indeed,
il blood
quire it.
d death
at “Sir
In ad-
tly cele-
resident
EARLY PRACTICE. T7
physician of Prince Leopold. Sheconsulted these gentle-
men in the management of her health, and by their
direction, being of a plethoric habit, was FREQUENTLY
bled.” At the embalming of the body the physicians
were “of opinion that the constitution had _ been
exhausted by the severe and protracted pains,” al-
though we are told in another place that there was
great ‘“‘inertia.’’ The idea that she had been too
repeatedly bled is not referred to.
When George, the great Father of the American
Republic, lay dying, at midnight, January 29th, 1820
—I do not mean George Washington, but the other
George, the third George,—his most affectionate son
the Prince Regent, ‘‘the first Gentleman in Europe,”
was unable to attend at his father's death-bed. But
Sir William Knighton was with him on the night when
the news arrived from Windsor, and testifies that it
was received ‘‘with a burst of grief that was very
affecting.” ‘‘ His (the First Gentleman’s) situation
presently became most critical. At his favorite resi-
dence, Brighton, he had caught a cold, for which he
lost eighty ounces ot blood. But on the night of
February Ist, a fresh attack coming on, he was almost
in danger of suffocation. Sir Henry Halford was ab-
sent, and had left directions that there was to be no
further bleeding till his return. The cautious Knighton
was afraid to disobey, and Mr. Grenville states that
78 EARLY PRACTICE.
he might have died but for Bloomfield’s sending for
Sir Maurice Tiernay, who promptly took fifty ounces of
blood trom him, almost bleeding him to death(!) It
was believed that but for this step he would have follow-
ed his father on the second or third day of his reign.”
By the 17th he received addresses from the City of
London. Sherriff Perkins declared that his Majesty
was one of the most robust-looking men in the king-
dom, but the Council declared that he was ‘‘ very weak
and tottering.””’ Pvor gentleman; no wonder he was
weak and tottering!
Where could a physician be found to-day who would
subject a patient to such treatment?
Where could a man be found to-day who would
Survive such treatment?
The Prince Regent could stand any amount of
bleeding, and so could his beloved country!
Even as late a writer us Sir Thomas Watson, on the
treatment of pneumonia, says:
‘The abstraction of blood will be effectual, czteris
paribus, in proportion as it 1s ear/y —the patient should
be bled in an upright position, by a large orifice, and
in a full stream—and be continued until the pulse
becomes so/ter, or, if it werecontracted, until it becomes
tuller; or until syncope appears to be at hand.
The patient should always be seen within four or five
hours from the period of the first venesection, that
"%
ling for
unces of
het) It
' follow-
reign.”
City of
Majesty
he king-
ry weak
he was
» would
» would
ount of
, on the
ceteris
t should
hice, and
e pulse
becomes
ror five
n, that
EARLY PRACTICE. 79
timely repetition of it may takeplace. Many fatal cases
have probably been fatal from want of this attention;
a vein should be opened, if necessary, two or three
times in the twenty four hours.”
As an auxiliary to this, blood was taken from the
surface of the chest by cupping-glasses and leeches.
Doctor Gregory, of Edinburgh, used to say in his
lectures that provided he was called early to a case
of pneumonia he would be contented to dispense with
all other aids than those of ‘“‘Jancet and water-gruel.”
But these extreme views of Gregory’s met with
criticism, for it was said of him that while he ‘used
to bleed to the verge of convulsion, hiscolleague Doctor
Rutherford seldom went beyond three bleedings, and
generally accomplished his object by two—judiciously
timed and measured. His patients recovered quickly;
Doctor Gregory’s very slowly.”
All this seems very odd in these days, and yet I am
not ashamed to throw in—modestly —my appreval.
The pneumonia of to-day is not at all like the
pneumonia of forty years ago, and requires an exactly
opposite line of treatment. Hearing Bennett, in Edin-
burgh, preach of stimulants in pneumonia made me
look upon him as a heretic, but after some years I
was converted to the present faith.
* * * * *
80 EARLY PRACTICE.
From the time when the use of the lancet as the sheet
anchor in medical practice began to fall into disuse,
a number of things in succession contended for the
place of first favorite, notably the two great rival
anesthetics, sulphuric ether and chloroform, and the
uses of their great natural ally, the hypodermatic
syringe, the spray, and the clinical thermometer.
The world seemed to have been preparing itself for
the coming of an anesthetic. Men had begun to think
of the possibilities. Nitrous oxide gas and mesmerism
had contended. The first was abandoned, for the time,
as bevond control; the second was uncertain and in-
complete, and soon forgotten.
When the magnificent Earl of Durham came out to
Canada as Viceroy, he brought in his suite one Edmund
Gibbon Wakefield, a great enthusiast on mesmerism.
He was not brought out specially to mesmerize the
Canadians or the Viceroy, though he had used his
mesmeric blandishments so successfully upon the tender
affections of a youthful boarding-school heiress in
England as to make a residence in Canada rather desir-
able, In Quebec he courted the society of the principal
medical men, and with Sir John Dorat, the Governor-
General’s physician, some private seances were held,
at which I was most courteously allowed to be present,
although only a student. Some minor operations were
performed—one for the removal of a section of a rib
he sheet
disuse,
for the
At rival
and the
ermatic
er.
self for
o think
merism
he time,
and in-
> out to
Edmund
merism.
rize the
used his
e tender
iress in
er desir-
rincipal
»vernor-
re held,
present,
ns were
of a rib
EARLY PRACTICE. 81
—inost successfully, the patients having been mesmer-
ized by Mr. Wakefield. In a short time, however, the
profession got tired of it, and no further experimerts
were made.
I think I had the honor of performing the first
capital operation made in Canada under the influence
of sulphuric ether, and subsequently of chloroform. On
March 14th, 1847, I amputated below the knee, in
the case of a man named Stone, at Eaton Corner,
Quebec, in the presence of Doctor Rodgers of Eaton,
Doctor Andrews of Cookshire, Reverend Mr. Sherrill,
and (I think) Mr. Samuel Hurd, father of Doctor E.
P. Hurd, now of Newburyport, Mass. The effects
of the anzsthetic were of the most successful and
remarkable character. Stone, during the whole time
of the operation, retained his consciousness, talked
rationally, and made some witty replies to questions
put to him, converting the scene from one of a painful
to a most ludicrous character. Both during the
operation and after it he expressed himself as knowing
perfectly well what was going on. At one time he
had a “‘presentiment of pain,” for he gave the word to
‘“‘oass the bottle,’’ which he cherished as a bosom friend.
On March 14th, 1847, I tied the femoral artery, and
on April 3rd amputated above the knee, both under
ether. These are the first published cases in Canada of
capital operations under ether. In November, 1846,
daa .
.
a ry
82 EARLY PRACTICE.
some operations had been performed at the Massachu-
setts General Hospital.
On the 24th and 25th of January, 1848, I used
chloroform most successfully, a phial of this new anes-
thetic having been presented to me by my old friend
the late S. J. Lyman, of Montreal, prepared by him-
self, and the most perpectly pure chloroform I ever
used.
I always had a slight weakness for chloroform over
ether, influenced, I dare say, by a very striking case
in my early experience. I had to remove a portion of
the tibia, and the day before the operation I went
with my friend Doctor Samuel T. Brooks, now of St.
Johnsbury, Vt., to see ihe effect of the inhalation. I
saw it, and felt it too, for after the man had taken a
few inspirations, in a weak moment I gave his arm an
inquiring pinch—‘“‘Do you feel that ?”’ ‘‘ Yes! do you
feel that? and in a second we were tumbling over the
floor, near a red-hot cooking-stove, and Doctor Brooks
endeavoring to prevent murder! I was punched in the
ribs that day enough to last for a month. The
operation was made on the day following, but J had
to keep in the background until the man was fairly
under the influence of the ether, for if he got a glimpse
of me, or heard my voice even in a whisper, he was
ready to renew the fight. Strange to say, I had had
no quarrel with the man, and he did not want to
sachu-
used
anzs-
friend
y him-
I ever
over
1g case
tion of
went
of St.
ion. I
aken a
arm an
do you
ver the
Brooks
1in the
. The
- J had
s fairly
xlimpse
he was
ad had
rant to
EARLY PRACTICE. 83
fight any other person. He was as untamable as a
man behind the rope-netting during the exhibition of
nitrous oxide gas.
All these cases were reported at the time in the
British-American Journal for 1847-8, published in
Montreal by the late Archibald Hall, M. D.
In early days of the ‘‘spray’’ I was invited to be
present at an ovarian operation. It was in the second
story of a private house, eight or ten medical gentle-
men being present. The patient was on the operating-
table; at the head were two smaller tables, on one of
which stood a small spray atomizer in full blast, and
on the other a quart bottle of ether newly opened,
fresh and full. A learned professor and most eminent
surgeon was giving the ether, from a large cone-shaped
towel which covered the patient’s face. As that first
licision was being made, there was a rush and a
blaze; tne cone was one mass of flame, enveloping the
professor’s hands and kair. I was standing within
reach of the bottle of ether, a glass one, which, to my
horror, was uncorked. Clapping cne hand over its
mouth, the flames close beside it, I grasped the bottle
in the other, and made a dash to get out of the room,
which was a small one, and in the excitement not
easy to get out of. The professor endeavored to throw
the blazing mass out of the window, which was some
four or five feet beyond the opposite end of the long
:
|
i.
84. EARLY PRACTICE.
table—no great throw for any solid substance over a
clear space, but with a blazing mass to divert the aim
quite another matter. Instead of going out of the
window it went into a roll of absorbent cotton on an
adjoining stand, set that on fire, and fell back on the
floor, firing more absorbent cotton on the floor, under
the table, where it had been put carefully out of the
way. Then as I was pushing to get out, the rolls of
blazing cotton were being madly kicked about, making
matters infinitely —dangerously —worse; everyone for
himself—a regular pandemonium. It was said after-
wards that I had carried the bottle of ether into the
back-yard before I parted with it, but that is a
slander ; I did carry it down stairs, and returned.
What a scene was there! The poor woman’s hair
and eyebrows burned, and the skin abraded from the
efforts to put out the fire. A most pitiable object, truly.
The Professor's hair, whiskers and brows were charred,
and the hair on his bare arms burned to the elbows.
But if the ether bottle had taken fire, it would have
been a sad business for the whole of us. Before any-
one thought of turning on the water, holes had been
burned into the flooring. The person to whom was
entrusted the bringing of the ether and cotton had
brought an unopened bottle, and as much cotton as
would have supplied a surgical ward for a month.
When it was brought in it excited a laugh; there were,
vera
e aim
f the
on an
in the
under
of the
ls of
aking
ne for
after-
co the
is a
ed.
; hair
m the
truly.
arred,
bows.
have
» any-
1 been
n was
n had
on as
nonth.
» were,
EARLY PRACTICE. 85
1 think, six rolls in all. One was separated for present
use, and the rest put away under the table.
Strange how history repeats itself. A few days after-
wards we heard of a similar but more serious accident
at one of the large hospitals in Europe, but the thing
was kept quiet — not even an irrepressible reporter
heard of it until it was too late.
No one appeared to have seen where the flame orig-
inated, but doubtless it came from some imperfect
meshes in the wire screen of the atomizer. At any
rate the heavily charged air—charged with the vapor
of sulphuric ether — touched off the saturated cone.
The wonder is that we escaped as well as we did.
The ‘‘spray”’ atomizer found its way into the street,
and became an object of admiration to the street
Arabs !
And the spray! What has become of the spray ?
Only a few years ago the very atmcsphere was clouded
with carbolic spray. There seemed to be a promise
that in time every ‘‘germ’’ in the universe would be
annihilated. The very soul and spirit of treatment
seemed to consist in antiseptic vapors. If a dilatory
student, coning in late to the operating-theatre, caused
a draft from the open door to waft the spray for one
moment from the wound, he was deemed to have taken
the patient’s life in his hands. Where is the spray now?
Even some of the stoutest adherents of the spray sys-
’
86 EARLY PRACTICE.
tem are now simply boiling their instruments and
bathing wounds with pure water that has been boiled!
Old-fashioned means of cleansing, surely !
Some surgeons now almost hint that a few germs
in certain cases would be of advantage; for instance,
as a convenient stimulus to the periosteum in the
production of new bone. This is perhaps an extreme #
view, but what would a theory be worth without
opposition? Certainly we knew nothing of ‘‘germs”
in those days--those good old days when we were
not disturbed by evolution. and protoplasm, and other
vexatious problems so learnedly written about and so
little understood; and yet wounds healed, and patients
did well, even where well-waxed silk ligatures were
used to give them firmness and to render the process
of tying the blood-vessels more easy—and where fresh
wounds were irrigated with common water. And 4
men and women grew and ‘rn: ‘tiplied exceedingly,
and replenished the earth.”’
: Even now, after the lapse of so many years, after 3
having seen the most delicate and difficult operations .—
| preformed without the use of anesthetics, it is im-
| possible to explain, hard to understand, how it was
i done! An amputation of an extrermty, with some-
ie times shrieks enough to appal the stoutest heart, but
more frequently with an inward agony, of course, but
no audible sound. Operations for hernia, for the
ee” ae |
— =e mM wo fy et RR
; and
oiled !
2erms
Lance,
n the
treme
thout
rms”
were
other
nd so
tients
were
rocess
fresh
And
ingly,
after
ations
is im-
was
some-
t, but
ne, but
the
EARLY PRACTICE. 87
removal of tumors from the neck, for the tying of
important blood-vessels, as in ancurysms, where an
unexpected movement on the part of the patient might
result in most serious consequences. Yet all these
things were done, and done well, by men of ircn nerves,
before the days of chloroform and ether.
When Sir James Simpson discovered chloroform he
gave birth to a host of surgeons, shining lights of to-
day, who would have sunk into their boots but for
the artificially induced unconsciousness of the victim.
Truly chloroform has been a blessing to mankind, and
womankind too—most essentially; and what is said
of chloroform must be said of ether. What two things
in the history of the world have achieved such conquests
for humanity as the discovery of these two agents?
How the victories of Caesar, of Alexander, of Napoleon,
pale before those of the men who could have inscribed
on their shields, ‘I conquered Pain!’’—conquered pain
not onlv for their friends, for their country, but for
all mankind. How the hospital inmate, and the ag-
onized mother in her great sorrow, have blessed its
results! How much it has doue for preservative
surgery, and how it has p‘ven increased confidence in
entering territories previously considered unapproach-
able! The surgeon can now do, without danger, what
would formerly have involved an unjustifiable risk.
Far be it from me even to evince a desire to pose
88 EARLY PRACTICE.
as an iconoclast. I have been guilty of having had
little idols of my own, and I am guilty of retaining
an affectionate remenibrance of some of them, but I
shall never be happy or have a clear conscience until
I unbosom myself about one little pet idol —the clinical
thermometer— which is at times a little too much for
me. No onecan appreciate its use when it is necessary
to use it, more than I can, but I have an utter con-
tempt for its use when its use is not necessary — when
it is being made a parade of—made to change places
with the doctor, and the destinies of the patient
directed by the record of its markings, The well worn
but too sarcastic definition of a physician as ‘one
who pours drugs—of which he knows nothing,—into
a body—of which he knows less”’ is ridiculously unjust ;
but it must be confessed that not only is the action
of the present therapeutic weapons which he employs
so recklessly, uncertain and doubtful, but the wisdom
of attacking a particular symptom is not always very
clear. At present it is the custom, if the patient has
a temperature above normal, to give a dose of anti-
pyrin or phenacetin, or a cold bath, for no other reason
in the world than because the thermometer said so.
The temperature is thus reduced for some hours—
perhaps—only to rise again—probably. Very pro-
bably. But how do I know that it has been an
advantage to have that temperature lowered at all?
y had
lining
but I
> until
linical
ch for
essary
r con-
- when
places
yatient
l worn
, one
— into
injust ;
action
nploys
visdom
ys very
nt has
yf anti-
reason
aid so.
10urs —
‘y pro-
een an
at all?
EARLY PRACTICE. 89
Considering the processes going on in the body, which
have produced the fever, is it wise to assume that that
fever was not serving a beneficial purpose? Still, as
the temperature rises or falls, another dose—or bath—
is given, or withheld and brandy given instead. And
so the little game of ‘‘Here she goes up, up, up—and
here she goes down, down, down,”’ is being played.
As to the wisdom of that kind of thing, as the auld
Scotch wife said, ‘‘I hae ma doots o’t.’’ It is a mode
of treatment arbitrary and empirical, not much in
advance of the old mode of procedure, (when bleeding
was in vogue,) when the old thermometer of pneu-
monia, the ‘‘ buffing and cupping” of a previous bleed-
ing, was taken as an indication for more.
It must be admitted that the ceremony of ‘‘ taking
the temperature”’ is a most imposing one — almost
perfect as a matter of ceremonial —in a small way.
The doctor comes in, sits down, and, after the usual
civilities, pulls out his pocket lens, wipes it most care-
fully, and does the same to his pince nez; then out
comes the thermometer, which receives the same polite
attention — from his pocket-handkerchief, perhaps, —
after which he most insinuatingly requests the patient
to put the instrument under her tongue, as before, and
close her lips. Then, after carefully taking the time,
he turns to the nurse or attendants with the usual
routine questions as to the due performance of the
90 EARLY PRACTICE.
various functions, until the time is up. Then the
pocket-lens investigates; a solemn ‘‘them!”’ or a joyful
“ha!” follows, and the little clinical idol is brought
to the window or the lamp and submitted to every
one in the room, as to the correct reading. ‘‘What do
you make of it ? Is it 10% 3-10, or 103 3-11?” And
this kind of rubbish is repeated at cach visit. The
friendly inquiry, '‘ How is the patient to-day ?”’ should
be, ‘How is the thermometer?” If a question is
thoughtlessly put as to the condition of the patient,
the reply will be, ‘‘ Well, the temperature is so-and-so!”
All this may be very necessary, but the same thing
could be done with less display.
I remember a dear old lady saying to me some years
ago: “Oh, Doctor, vou ought to get one of those
things like my son John’s. Whenever he puts it under
my tongue, I feel it go right through me, up and down
my neck. It is such a cute little thing, too —it just
tells of itself exactly how you are.”’
1 the
oyful
pught
every
at do
And
The
hould
on is
tient,
l-so!”’
thing
years
those
under
down
t just
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
A REMINISCENCE OF EARLY PRACTICE.
ES, incredible as it may seem, our world of ‘Little
Peddlington on St. Francis "’ was, at the time I
write of, only a good-sized village, but our first rail-
road — we have four or five now — was in course of
construction ; indeed, the rails were laid up to within
six miles of us. Gravel trains were in full swing, bal-
lasting the road, and when the air was moist we could
hear the glad sound of the whistle. We do not listen
for it now. We are rather tired of it. Every evening
in the bar-room of the ‘‘Gog and Magog”’ were related
wonderful accounts of how many ties and rails were
laid and how many spikes driven that day; and if
perchance an enterprising contractor drove up to town
—the boldest of us were just beginning to speak of
‘Our Town’’— he was treated with marked attention,
92 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
and his remarks as to progress listened to with great
pride.
Fathers of families used to extemporize little picnics
for the benefit of their wives and families, down to
some ground commanding a view of the St. Francis
Valley, up which the train must come, and return jub-
ilant if they were fortunate enough to hear a whistle
or see a puff of smoke from what was to bring them
stores of wealth and make everyone around them
prosperous and happy.
It is true we already had daily communication, by
stage, both ways, with the outer world; four spanking
horses in busy and two in sla-k times, changing every
ten miles, doing the ninety niles to Port St. Francis
on the St. Lawrence, or vice versa, in nine hours.
Yes, indeed ; and I had almost forgotten we had a
daily stage to Montreal, and a very ‘' weakly ” one
to Quebec. But what were all these to a railroad ?
Still the old coach days had their charms. As the
hour for passing came round, the children ran out,
hoping to pick up a drop-letter or a parcel, or a mes-
sage from the driver, and at the stage-houses a crowd
would collect and survey the passengers and baggage
and pick up the news of the day, and local gossip,
from Ike Cutter, the stage-driver. And at Mrs. Spicer’s
—the half-way house—where the passengers were re-
galed, while the horses and stage were taken over the
J
7 SR
eau = ng
och pale DS Race 2
reat
icnics
n to
ancis
jub-
histle
them
them
n, by
nking
every
rancis
one
road ?
is the
n out,
a mes-
crowd
iggage
FOSSIP,
picer’s
ere re-
ver the
See | Iie
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 93
ferry in a scow, there was opportunity for interchange
of news. Ike Cutter and Mrs. Spicer were two famous
personages on the route—the first for his talking pow-
ers, the second for her native tea, and gooseberry pies
when in season.
But those old stage-coaching days are gone, and
with them all the romance of travel, and we have in
their place only the discordant shriek of the engine,
the shrill cry of ‘All aboard!”’ a rush, another shriek,
and off again. No time for sentiment or tender fare-
wells.
This road was the St. Lawrence and Atlantic, the
first connecting iron link between Montreal and Port-
land, Maine; the parent of the Grand Trunk Railway
and, it may be truthfully said, of the whole railway
system in the Dominion of Canada. And this road
was steadily making its way to ‘‘Little Peddlington
on St. Francis’’ in the summer of 1851,
Yes, when this great railway was completed to Rich-
mond, within twenty-four miles of our town, a formal
Opening was announced, and a great banquet given,
at which champagne flowed like water, and eloquent
speeches were made—‘“ to oil the machinery,” it was
said. The glories of the two countries were enlarged
upon. People divided by a mere imaginery line — of
the same blood, speaking the same language, inheriting
the same glorious ancestry—were to be bound together
|
Ve
9,9 G <* K%
% Vy SF x OWX< « <¥,
Ya, e V vy ai Ws ot ee a6
4! | t .&
NA Ny, YW W kk ¥
W a
Vf gs.
NX ae
S2 (FREER =
<= ddaa a
=i TPs xj % End |
So ee. ES
> 0 my
as Te BES
— ll os)
2h ee BAS
=i mC
Go
NON
aS 7S pe
4 ) aS
i & we yo
Pays
Oe
94. WATSON AND BELI.’S SECTION.
in bands of iron—railway iron—for ever !
I drove down with my friend, Doctor S. T. Brooks,
then of Little Peddlington, but now of St. Johnsbury,
to see the great Anglo-Saxon race—with a slight dash
of French-Canadian — bound in perpetual amity and
interest. Portland and Montreal for ever! The crowd
was immense. When the train came in, decorated
with the flags of the two countries, it was hard to
keep the country people off the track. While the rai!-
way magnates were feasting, the manager of the road
invited the folks to pile in for aride. Such a rush as
was made for places! and in the midst of it a young
fellow named Goodwillie, a son of one of the contrac-
tors, in endeavoring to keep order, stumbled just as
the train started; he fell with his arm outstretched on
tie track, and two wheels passed over it just below
the shoulder.
The cry was, ‘‘Get a doctor!’’ but no doctor could
be found. At last I was recognized in the crowd and
called in, to find my patient lying on a straw ‘‘tick”’
on the floor, in an adjoining house. What on earth
was I to do? No local man to be found—no instru-
ments either. At last an old physician turned up. No,
he had no surgical instruments, but he had a knife,
made by the village blacksmith out of an old file; it
was the pig-sticker of the village, and he thought it
was in good order, so off he drove for it. In his ab-
Fi
&
oe
a
Be
‘
te
ui)
§
“s
Rd
4
BY
rooks,
sbury,
t dash
y and
crowd
orated
ird to
e rail-
e road
ush as
young
ntrac-
st as
ed on
below
could
d and
tick ”’
earth
nstru-
. No,
knife,
le; it
oht it
is ab-
MEER AD ie eT: ated PO Le
Ss
“8
tA
BS
ee
et
WATSON AND BELL'S SECTION. 95
sence Doctcr Brooks and I got together silk for liga-
tures, bandages, old sponges, and acarpenter’s tcnor
saw. The first intimation we had of our fiiend’s return
was seeing him seated in a chair, in front of the
patient, putting a keen edge on the knife, on a stone
he had brought with him. It was a cold-blooded
proceeding, but we forgave him, as he had brought
with him, likewise. two curved needles, a small pair
of forceps, all rather rusty, and some sticking-plaster.
On examination I found the humerus splintered into
the joint, so I at once made my flap from the deltoid,
disarticulated the head of the bone, removed thespicule,
and, using a sharp-bladed pen-knife for a scaipel, and
the forceps, passed my armed curved needles under the
vessels, and so secured them; and a sweep of my
butcher-knife, with a little trimming of the mangled
flap. completed the operation. The wound healed by
“first intention,” and the young fellow drove up to
“ Little Peddlington on St. Francis” on the twenty-
first day. This was on October 15th, 1851.
In the eariv days of the settlement of the country,
physicians were few and far between, and the work
most laborious—the roads in many places impassable,
even to the old-fashioned New England sulky. Few
men of the present day would relish the idea of being
called upon in the middle of the night to go some ten,
twenty or thirty miles in the saddle—over good roads
96 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
and bad, over hills and through swamps — and be
called upon at the end of the journey to set a fracture,
reduce a Gislocation, or operate, as I once did, for
stranguiated hernia, in a poor log cabin, by the light
of one small lamp and an old-fashioned, perforated-
tin, stable lantern.
Still, the life of a country physician was not without
its attractions. Riding or driving along, he had ample
time and food for meditation, and time and oppor-
tunity for throwing a “fly” in a wayside brook—on
his way home, of course. I never distinguished myself
with the gun ; in fact I never shot a bird until I was
over thirty ; I had a disappointment in early life which
disheartened me. —
I was out after wild pigeons in a buckwheat field.
After some time I saw a solitary bird on a small tree,
just over my head. Taking deliberate aim I fired.
When the smoke cleared away, there sat the pigeon.
Before shutting my eyes preparatory to pulling the
trigger, I had observed that the bird sat with his
back to me; now he faced me, looking inquiringly
down, as if to say: ‘‘ Hello, what is the matter with
you?’ I Joaded again carefully, and fired; not a
feather flew ; then ‘ pigeon ”’ left, disgusted. I, too,
was so disgusted that I did not take a gun in my
hand for years; not that I considered guns danger-
ous—especially to pigeons.
8 oi gO ERE tates oo). > anes
SSA ee Se AEG
a)
nd be
cture,
d, for
| light
rated-
thout
ample
y)ppor-
<—on
myself
I was
which
. field.
1 tree,
fired.
igeon.
ig the
th his
ringly
r with
not a
, too,
in my
anger-
4
Sp eG A
AF
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 97
This railway—which I had almost forgotten—was
making its way steadily to Little Peddlington on St.
Francis, bringing with it a host of navvies of all
nationalities, mules and dogs by the score, guats and
poultry. Rough wooden shanties grew up like mush-
rooms; stores, boarding-houses, and ‘‘ dog's nests,”
where bad whiskey was sold at champagne prices.
Of course there was at once a great and increasing
addition to the population, and the doctor was in
great demand. One lovely evening in July, 1851, I
was on my way to see a patient some six miles from
home. I was on horseback, and had got over four
miles of my journey, when I met a ‘‘navvy” riding
and evidently in a hurry. As he was passing he sud-
denly drew up, saying, “Are vou the doctor?” “Yes,
lama doetcr.” ‘Well then,” he said, ‘I’m after you.
You are wanted at Watson & Bell’s section, at once.”’
“Ves,” said I; ‘who is sick — Watson, or Bell, or the
section?” ‘‘Oh, it’s the Missus herself.” ‘Yes, but
whose missus?” ‘Sorra one of -1e knows; but you’d
better hurry up, anyway.” I explained to my friend
that I was on my way to a case of a probably similar
character, and could not possibly go with him—he had
better go on and get someone else. No, he was told
to get me! So it was finally settled between us in
this way: I had only two miles further to go, and
when I got to the end of my journey might find my
ae ae SU AMAR AGRI GO SMT -
98 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
patient better: at any rate, the moment I was at
liberty I would go on to Watson & Bell’s section.
And so we parted—the evening beautiful and bright
and still, but some black, suspicious-lookiug clouds
were looming up in the distance.
On arriving at my patient’s house— whose husband,
for convenience, I shall call Mr. Nathan —everything
was in a state of repose. On explaining the situation,
Mrs. Nathan said, most considerately, that she might
not require my services before morning. Yes, surely,
I had better go at once to the other party, and-it she
should want me in a hurry,—why, Nathan could go
over for me; it was a very short distance by the ‘‘old
portage road!” Nathan explained to me the intricacies
of the “portage” so clearly that I determined to con-
tinue my journey by it, as it would shorten my route
by three miles.
The early settlers, in the absence of roads, had to
take their wares, consisting chiefly of ‘‘pot and pearl
ash,”’ to market in flat-bottomed boats down the St.
Francis, where at Brompton Falls a long pertage had
to be made to avoid some dangerous rapids. The
railway was being bvilt close to the river, and the
highway was back from the river about a mile. To
go from Mr. Nathan’s to Watson and Bell’s section
meant a ride of a mile to the highway where I had
left the messengef, a mile and a half down the high-
ras at
ction.
bright
clouds
sband,
ything
ation,
might
surely,
-1t she
ild go
ie “old
ieacies
-O con-
r route
1ad to
1 pearl
the St.
ge had
. The
nd the
le. To
section
I had
e high-
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 99
way, and then a mile back again to the river, over
a newly-cut-out path—or about three-quarters of a
mile over the old portage, if one could only get through
alone, and at night. There was the “rub,” alone and
at night, over an unexplored country. However, the
calls of humanity decided me in favor of the short cut.
In a reckless moment I took the portage road -— or
rather, I took a portion of it that night, and the rest
I took—several times—the next day.
My instructions at starting were, as is usual in such
cases, delightfully plain and simple. I had only to
cross the adjoining meadow to the old Adams home-
stead—some six hundred yards—and there strike the
“portage.” A large pine tree marked its entrance.
True, the portage had not been used for fifteen or
twenty years, and had been covered with a thick under-
growth, which-had been cut down only a few days
before, and some heavy teams had been driven through.
1 might expecta few mud-holes, and must be partic-
ularly careful not to get off the path, as the railway
was very close to it for the whole distance. All of
which was very comforting. Just as I passed the big _
pine tree, and entered the portage, some heavy drops
of rain fell, and in a moment the moon went out, the
fountains of the great deep were: opened, and down
came the deluge. Dark? I never saw darkness before.
As an experiment I pulled out my white handkerchief
100 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
and waved it before my face; no, I could not see it.
As we advanced, my horse could not resist the temp-
tation of having a bite at the green leaves beside him;
and as the first mud-hole declared itself, two long
boughs loaded with mud met me, one on each side,
plastering me from head to foot, and carrying off my
hat. I was sure the horse was off tie path, partic-
ularly as I had lost my temper and had pulled at his
bit. The proper thing to do, under the circumstances,
would be to get off; and as I always did—and do—
the proper thing, I dismounted and tied the hcerse to
one of a clump of seven white birches —the,; might
have been black that night, but I knew they were
birch from their bark; and then I ventured off, like
the king’s son in the story-book, but without the good
fairy, in search of my fortunes and my lost hat! I
groped carefully with both hands for mud-ruta, but
met only leaves and pools of water. Perhaps I had
better go back to the horse and try another point of
the compass ; but alas! I could not find my horse!
I had tied him, to use as a strategic base from which
to explore ; now my fixed point, horse, and hat were
gone. I listened intently for the least sound from my
horse. Evidently he was listening too, for he never
stirred ; he had never known me to do anything so
insane before, as to get off his back in a pelting rain
and grope about in the bushes; he did not know of
see it.
temp-
e him;
9 long
a side,
off my
partic-
at his
tances,
d do—
rse to
might
y were
ff, like
e good
at! I
3, but
I had
oint of
horse !
which
it were
om my
. never
ing so
ig rain
iow of
4
he,
ir,
3
i
oe
i
4
2
%
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 101
the loss of my hat, or of his own importance to me
at the moment.
At last my outstretched arins grasped his hind legs—
tere was some comfort in that. Some comfort, too,
in the fact that he did not resent my familiarity ; he
merely neighed in an encouraging tone. Then I went
to his head, and, after due consideration, started off
again for a point exactly opposite, as I supposed, to
the one I had previously taken — off in search of mud-
ruts, wheel-tracks, anything suggestive of a path—or
a hat. No! in five minutes, in accordance with the
well-known principle governing revolving planets, and
even smaller bodies, I came back to the same horse
and the same clump of birches. I knew them, for I
counted them, and their number was seven! Again
and again I tned this, with the same result; then I
thought I would sit down and rest, but what could
I sit on? I found a smooth log—smooth on the sur-
face, but treacherously rotten within, for when I sat
on it it collapsed and dumped me into a pool of water
alongside. It might be supposed that this would have
thrown a damper upon my feelings, but it did not—_
they had been thoroughly acclimated before. Here a
happy thought struck me: why not get into the saddle
and sit there? Why had I not thought of this before?
I mounted, leaving tke horse tied. Unfortunately, he
took this as a signal for ‘quick march,” and round
102 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
and round he went before I could get down, swishing
the horrid, wet, and mud-laden branches over my face
—all over me.
By this time I had lost my temper—all I ever had.
It was of no use to me, anyway, so I thought I would
try the meek and lowly and long-suffering plan for a
while—but that was no better; then in sheer desper-
ation I got into the centre of the clump of trees—silver
birches,—leant against one, put my arms around the
others, and stood there until the day began to break,
at three o'clock. JI had entered the portage at ten p.m.
I must have dropped into a doze, for the moment I
opened my eyes there was my hat, a soft felt one, well
up on the horse’s nigh fore-leg—he had stood in it so
long the foot had gone through, and there it was
encircling his fetlock like a frill; otherwise it was not
badly damaged! The crown was demoralized, hut the
brim — well, it might do for something ; it might do
for a masquerade! The rain still came down—what
else could it do? it could not go up. There it was;
up or down made no difference to me—it had done
its worst.
My feelings were centered in what my poor patients
were doing in this my cruel desertion. I untied my
horse, moutted, and was about to start, when another
dificulty cropped up. Where was I to go? What
direction was I to take? I had staried for Watson
ge RE re sinh
- ee ee ee ee ee eee ee ee |
, oo See” ee a ee, ee a ee
wishing
my face
rer had.
I would
n for a
desper.
s—silver
und the
> break,
en p.m.
yment |
ne, well
in it so
it was
vas not
but the
ight do
—what
t was;
id done
yatients
ied my
another
What
Watson
aS RNR alii ee -
eo ee ee
WATSON AND BELL'S SECTION. 103
and Bell’s section. Clearly it was my duty to go
there first, but where was Watson and Bell’s section?
The ‘‘Falls” roared beside and around me! If I turned
my right ear, there they were; if I turned my left,
there they were, just as loud. The rain and the fog
were so dense; the river was anywhere; the path
gave no indication. To my surprise the horse had
barely left the path—he was “half-and-half.’”’ Which
half was his fault? and which mine?
However, there were twe ways,a right and a wrong.
I took one, and a few minutes brought me back to
the big pine tree where I had entered the portage. I
had taken the wrong one, and had only to turn round
to be right. As I rode back I was not surprised that
I had lost myself. During the previous heavy rains
the heavy cart-wheels going through pools of mud had
left drooping branches in graceful curves, just as from
wet snow in early spring—only this was not “beautiful
snow,” it was Mud! As I entered the line of shanties
the dogs began to bark and the cocks began to crow,
but there was not a light burning ora ‘“‘navvy”’ astir.
I steered for the biggest shanty in the row, and
knocked at the door with my riding-whip. The whole
place seemed to be in a state of profound repose. I
was indignant to think that I had gone through such
tribulation for people so indifferent as to have slept
through it all. At last a door opened, and a cross
104. WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
voice said: ‘Yes, this is Watson and Bell's section.
What do you want?” “TI am the doctor.’ “Oh,
indeed, you are the doctor! Well, vou don’t look much
like one.” But she took me in, and a man took charge
of my horse. On a kind of shelf, like a half-section in
a Pullman car, lay my patient, fast asleep; she had
slept soundly all night, but she woke up in the middle
of my story, and she and her four friends—"' ladies in
waiting’’--went into peals of laughter at my forlorn
condition.
Modesty was thrown to the winds, and I was
tenderly reduced to the condition of primeval man,
and my garments hung up to dry by the hastily lighted
kitchen fire. Then I was arrayed in an inside feminine
garment—I hardly know what to call it —shaped like
a sack, and reaching down to my heels, with frills
round the neck and wrists; a petticoat; and a light
shawl over my shoulders. A buffalo robe, with the
fur side up, was spread on the floor, and this, with a
pillow and a light quilt, completed my equipment for
the night. No sooner did my head touch the pillow
than the room was filled with the most bewitching
harmony. }
‘ it came o’er my ears like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets.”
One sweet —inexpressibly sweet — voice led, followed
by a chorus of one hundred voices in angelic strains.
section.
cameos 0) 57
ok much
k charge
ection in
she had
e middle
ladies in
r forlorn
1 I was
‘al man,
v lighted
feminine
aped like
ith frills
| a light
with the
, witha
ment for
e pillow
witching
followed
strains.
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 105
Then I was lifted up, up, by graceful forms arrayed
in garments similar to my new ones, and wafted
through hymeneal groves, fanned by cool zephyrs, and
placed in a bower—of silver birches, seven in a clump—
upon a bed of roses! My temples and limbs were
bathed in ambrosial cologne, and the graces blew sweet
breathings, and gently touched me with their lips ;
then a voice came to the door—not of the bower, but
of the miserable shanty—and shouted: ‘‘Is this Watson
and Bell’s Section ?”’ ‘Yes,’ answered someone. ‘‘Is
the doctor here? He is wanted right off at Mr.
Nathan’s. You tell him to hurry up.” I had just
floated into a sweet dream, and to be disturbed in
this rude way, and rushed from Elysium into that
hateful portage, was too dreadful. If I did not say
“d—n it,’ I thought it. It 1s not likely that I merely
remarked, ‘‘ Well, this is too awfully sweet.” Retain-
ing my inside environment, I pushed my way bravely
through the sodden sleeves and legs of my own gar-
ments, assisted by the four “ladies of the bed-chamber.’”
My riding-boots I could not get on, so I tied them
together, threw them over the saddle, and rode off in
my stocking-feet. It was still raining hard, and a
heavy fog covered everything. It was early — not
more than four o’clock.
When I got fairly through the portage, I put my
horse into a sharp gallop, and had a narrow escape
106 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
for my life near the old Adams homestead. At acurve
where the railway was some ten feet below the path
TY was riding on, the rain had caused a landslide,
carrying the path into the railway below. In an in-
stant my brave ho.se caught the situation, and turn-
ing sharp he cleared at a bound the low fence to the
right, the bank crumbling u-der his heels as he took
the jump. The danger was over before I saw it. I
got off his back and kissed him, and promised him a
lump of sugar. A foot more and we would have been
over the dump and seriously injured, if not killed.
Arriving at Nathan’s, and giving prompt attention
to my patient, I then addressed myself to the agree-
abie task of refreshirg the “inner man.’’ The baby
was being dressed, the table was laid with a beautiful
white cloth before the open door and the family were
waiting for me to come to breakfast. i had a “‘licking
of promise” in the shape of a wash. There was no
carpet, so it did not matter about the drip from my
clothes. I began to relate my adventures to the
woren— who could not for the life of them keep back
their laughter--and I had just decapitated my first
egg, when splash, splash, splash, came a man and a
horse to the open doorway, and the saine old story
of Watson and Bell’s Section was repeated.
Nathan’s folks were very religious, so I could not
swear. If I had been a “‘class-leader ’”’ of some per-
-acurve
che path
andslide,
n an in-
nd turn-
e to the
he took
iw it. I
d him a
ave been
illed.
ittention
1e agree-
‘he baby
beautiful
nily were
“licking
was no
from my
; to the
ceep back
my’ first
in and a
ld story
ould not
ome per-
ex
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 107
suasion, I might have given vent to my feelings by
“making a prayer,” but I did not feel equal to it. I
was crushed utterly, and subdued. The horse was
brought round, and off I rode, wet, hungry, and
weary, for Watson and Bell’s Section. AsI got off at
the door I heard the first cry of the ‘‘infant,’’ and the
mother’s pleasant welcome; ‘‘ Well, Doctor, you are
just in time.”’
I retnained at the Section an hour, and rode back to
Nathan’s, where I had promised to return to breakfast.
My horse was put up and fed, and Nathan’s mother,
a dear old woman of over sixty, kissed me and sent
me to the spare room, where she had spreul out a
suit of her son’s clothes for me to dress in; every-
thing —even the old-fashioned shirt-collar and stock—
even a substitute for the elementary garment I have
referred to but was unable to name. Then I was placed
before a good breakfast —fresh eggs, fresh brook trout,
buttered toast, and johnny-cake. I did my duty nobly.
My worst enemies have never had just cause to re-
proach me—in that line.
In the meantime I thought of my home in ‘Little
Peddlington on St. Francis.”
Nathan’s clothes may be described as being nut-
brown in color, old butternut dye, and of linsey-
woolsey texture. Nathan was six feet in height. Even
with high heels I never could beat 5 feet 7%, so the
108 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
clothes were long enough. There was a tall, silk, Sun-
day hat, old in style—it might have been his grand-
father’s. Altogether I might have been taken for an
itinerant preacher — all except my legs. I could not
get my riding-boots on, but 1 managed to get my feet
into the iegs. After mutual farewells and ‘“‘ many
happy returns,’’ I started for home. Then it was that
I became aware of the defect in my legs; they — or
rather my boots — wabbled about, toes in and out,
and round and round, every way, making my legs
lock as if they did not belong to me. I let out my
stirrups to the length of taking in my boots, which
only added to my stature. A riding-master would
have ordered me to dismount at once. My toes still
continued to wabble and gurgle with water, but at
last I got home—about nine o’clock. My wife stood
at the front gate as I rode up, and, seeing me about
to get off, she said: ‘The doctor is not at home, sir.”
* % * * *
At the time of which I write, Little Peddlington
rejoiced in having only four doctors! and with one
exception not another within twenty miles. One was
a very old man, the second many years my senior,
and the third only a few years older than myself, so
that the greater share of the night work fell to me;
rather more than was pleasant, more than was always
ik, Sun-
; grand-
1 for an
uld not
my feet,
“many
vas that
ley — or
nd out,
my legs
out my
3, which
r would
oes still
but at
fe stood
e about
me, sir.”
dlington
vith one
One was
y senior,
yself, so
to me;
3 always
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 109
safe. Ill-natured people called us respectively “Battle,”
‘‘ Murder,” and ‘‘ Sudden Death,” for no sufficient
reason exvept that one drove a ‘pale’ horse. The
fourth man had no special designation.
One midsummer night I was called up by a man
named Lovell, from Brompton Mills, some six miles
from Little Peddlington, to see his wife in a case that
admitted of nodelay. ‘Allright; I’ll call my man up
to get the horse, and be right after you.” ‘‘No,” said
Lovell, ‘‘jump in with me; I'll bring you back, and
we will lose no time.’’ But as soon as I saw the in-
tense darkness, and heard the beating rain, I half
repented, but not until Jehu had started, and then it
was too late. In a few moments, however, it became
painfully evident that we had an unpleasant drive
before us. It was so utterly dark that until we got
out of town it would be impossible to go faster than
a walk, without danger. We drove up a biind lane—
into a back yard —up against corner posts—over piles
of gravel that had been dumped into the streets for
repairs only the evening before—until I fairly lost my
temper. ‘Lovell, we will never get to Brompton at
this rate. Let me out. I'll go back and get my own
team, with lamps, and then we will know where we
are going to.’’ But Lovell resented this as an insin-
uation against himself and his horse. “No, Doctor,
you just wait until we get out of these cursed streets,
110 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
into the open country, and I’ll show you; the old
horse has been in a lumbering camp all his life, and is
as steady as a rock.” ‘‘ Well,” said I, “let me drive
until we get into the open country.’ No! the very
devil—or something else—as I then began to think,
had taken possession of Lovell. ‘ Did I think he had
been drinking ? He had been down to the tavern,
before he came for me, to get a bottle of brandy —
the women told him to—but he had not tasted any-
thing.” We were just coming to a slight descent in
the narrow roadway, at the entrance to what was
called most appropriately the ‘‘ Lovers’ Walk.” On the
left, going down, was a very steep hill-side; on the
other a deep ravine. The branches of the trees meet-
ing overhead formed one of the loveliest covered
avenues in all creation. Nothing could exceed it in
beauty —that is to say, ‘‘on a calm, still night,’”’ when
one could catch the twinkling of the stars or a glimmer
of moonlight through the tree-tops, a loved one at his
side reciprocating vows of enduring affection ; but on
a night like this—as “dark as Erebus and blackest
midnight ’’—the scenery and surroundings were with-
out charm.
As we began to go down the hill, my friend touched
up his old horse in most jubilant style, saying as he
did so, ‘‘I guess we are all right now.” I uttered a
vigorous protest to this, declaring that if he did not
the old
fe, and is
me drive
the very
o think
k he had
tavern,
randy —
ted any-
ascent in
hat was
’ On the
; on the
es meet-
covered
eed it in
t,”? when
glimmer
ne at his
> but on
blackest
ere with-
touched
g as he
ittered a
> did not
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 111
go slowly through this grove I would get out and go
home, and he might go—somewnere else—for another
doctor; I was not going to have my neck broken for
his —bad word —recklessness! I think this remon-
strance had its influence, for he commenced a sentence
in approval of its wisdom, and ended the sentence at
the bottom of the ravine! Just one crash, and away
we went into the woods below. I say below, but at
the moment I was so dazed I could not tell whether
we had fallen up or down. Lovell seemed to be some
ten or fifteen feet off, shouting out in great tribulation
a volley of enquiries: ‘‘Doctor! Doctor! are you hurt?
Answer! Whoa! Whoa! Stop kicking, you brute!
Doctor, are you killed? If you are, for God’s sake
say so. Whoa! He’s dead! Where are you?” Evi-
dently the horse had come down with us, and was
‘lashing out” to free himself, and Lovell was trying
to keep clear of his legs and find me at the same time.
When I got up and shook myself I was so fearfully
angry that I did not answer, but devoted all my
energies to getting up into the road again ; any noise
I made in climbing was drowned in Lovell’s terror and
the noise of the kicking horse. At last I stood in the
roar, minus a hat, one leg rather painful, and the ring
of Lovell’s old perforated-tin stable lantern over my
wrist. We had put it out a few minutes before as
being worse than useless, and to stop its racket in
112 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
the bottom of the wagon I put its ring over my wrist.
At the moment of going over I was toying with the
ring of my pass-key on my little finger, and as I stood
there in the road the pass-key remained on my finger.
A propos of this, it instantly brought to my recollec-
tion an incident relating to a friend of mine. He was
standing on the deck of a steam ferry-boat as it was
roaring off its steam ready to start. The boiler ex-
ploded, with great loss of life. At the moment that
my friend was sent flying into the air, he was eating
an apple; and when in due time he came down, the
apple was in his pocket! How and when did it get
there ? Going up, or coming down ?
When I reached home I had my horse harnessed, my
lamps lighted, and was ready to start, when a person
came to the door. It was Lovell! When he saw me
he gave a most unearthly yell. He had left me—as
he thought —dead, or unconscious, in the ravine—had
come to tell my family, and here I was meeting him
at the front door! Why did I not tell him? Why
didn’t I say I was not dead? However, when he
cooled off, I bundled him into the wagon; and when
we got to the scene of the disaster I left him one of
my gig-lamps, to assist him in looking for his horse
and things, while I went on to attend to his wife.
About nine in the morning, as I was driving home, I
met the horse, grazing his way leisurely along on the
ny wrist.
with the
is I stood
ny finger.
r recollec-
He was
as it was
ooiler ex-
lent that
as eating
own, the
lid it get
essed, my
a person
> saw me
t me—as
ine — had
tiag him
? Why
when he
nd when
one of
his horse
his wife.
home, I
ig on the
WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION. 113
roadside in the direction of his home; a great, big,
brown horse, verifying in his appearance his character
as having been brought up in a lumbering-camp. His
bridle was over his ears, the reins dragging behind,
and each trace holding a portion of a broken thill. I
got out, tied up the reins and bridle, detached the
broken thills, and sent him on his way rejoicing. As
soon as I got home IJ took a tape-line and went back
to the broken wagon. Only the hind wheels and body
remained on the road-side, the hind axle having been
caught by the top of an old post that had in former
years formed part of a fence.
My hat, a round-topped hard felt one, was deeply
imbedded in the earth at the foot of a large tree.
From the wagon-seat to the hat was an unbroken
twenty-three feet, and nearly that distance from the
roadside to the tree.
In making a sudden descent of that kind, there is
nothing like a good ‘“ owld Irish head” and a hard-
topped hat.
The front wheels had gone down with the horse.
A rude stone wall of six or eight feet held the road-
way on that side, and on the top of the side-hill op-
posite was a public cemetery, while a short distance
below down the ravine was a brewery. The lower
branches of some of the trees had been trimmed with
a sharp axe, leaving projecting points three or four
114 WATSON AND BELL’S SECTION.
feet long, ready to transfix any poor unfortunate.
Indeed, all the surroundings were suggestive of a cor-
oner’s inquest and a verdict of ‘‘Two men and a horse
impaled! ”’
About three p.m. Lovell turned up to inquire about
his horse. In the forenoon he had heard of a stray
one, and started in pursuit; he had even been some
miles above ‘‘Great Bumbleton by St. Francis and
Massawippi,’’ and was delighted when I told him the
animal was at home. He explained to me how he
thought the accident had happened. He had oiled the
harness the day before, and the tongue of tke buckle
on the ‘nigh side”’ of the driving rein was broken.
He had simply tied a loose knot, and when he tried
to pull the horse up going down the hill the knot
slipped, throwing all the weight on the “off” rein. |
The horse simply went where he was told to go.
“Vor
rtunate.
of a cor-
-a horse
re about
a stray
2n some
cis and
him the
how he
oiled the
2 buckle
broken.
he tried
he knot
ft’? rein. |
go.
The Late Doctor Worthington.
(From the Medical .‘7e, Detroit, Mich., March 2th, 1895.)
T is with deep regret that we are compelled to
announce the death of Edward Dagge Worthington,
M.D., M.A., F.R.C.S., which took place at Sherbrooke,
Quebec, on Monday, February 25th last.
Doctor Worthington was the doyen of the medical
profession in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, having
been in actual practice there for more than fifty years.
His reputation, however, was Provincial rather than
local, and for many years he was recognized as the
leading surgeon in the Lower Provinces.
Born in Ballinakill, Queen’s County, Ireland, Decem-
ber 1st, 1820, two years later he came with his parents
to Canada. In 1834 he was indentured for seven
years as a medical student with that distinguished
practioner, the late James Douglass, of Quebec, but
was released from his apprenticeship at the end of five
years to enable him to accept an appointment as Assis-
116 THE LATE DOCTOR WORTHINGTON.
tant Surgeon to H. M. 56th Foot, then quartered in
‘‘ Lower Canada,” and subsequently (1845) was pro-
moted to Staff Assistant Surgeon, serving with H.M.
68th Light Infantry. Later he resigned his commission
to proceed to Edinburgh, where he attended lectures
at the University, winning the silver medal in his year
for medical jurisprudence. He was in ‘auld Reekie ”’
during the Snowball Riots, a graphic account of which
appeared from his pen in THE MeEpicaL AGE last year.
He passed a most brilliant examination for the degree
of Doctor of Medicine, which was bestowed upon him
by the College of St. Andrews. Later he became a
licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons, and of the
Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow. Upon:
his return to Canada he received the license of the
Montreal Medical Board, and almost immediately
located in Sherbrooke and entered upon active practice.
In 1855 the University of Bishops College conferred
upon him honoris causa the degree of M. A., and in
1868 the University of McGill College granted him
the degree ad eundem of C.M., M.D. For some years
he was likewise one of the governors of the College of
Physicians and Surgeons of Lower Canada. He was
the first president of the St. Francis District Medical
Association, and to his zeal, to a great extent, was
due the organization of the Canadian Medical Associa-
tion.
ered in
as pro-
h H.M.
mission
lectures
his year
Reekie ”’
of which
ast year.
ne degree
ipon him
ecame a
nd of the
se of the
nediately
practice.
conferred
., and in
nted him
yme years
College of
He was
t Medical
tent, was
11 Associa-
w. Upon:
THE LATE DOCTOR WORIHINGTON. 117
Doctor Worthington was the first surgeon in Canada
to perform a capital operation under an anesthetic—
the first to use both ether and chloroform. He also
manifested deep interest in military affairs, and in 1861
was named surgeon to the 53rd Battalion, and later
promoted to Surgeon-Major, which rank he retained
upon retirement. As a physician and surgeon he en-
joyed the fullest confidence of the community; for over
thirty years he had nearly all the surgical practice in
the ‘‘Eastern Townships.’”’ He moreover had the full
confidence of his medical confreres, who frequently sent
for him from long distances.
As the physician and friend to the poor, Doctor
Worthington was pre-eminently distinguished. He was
one of the kindest and most lovable of men, and his
traits of character were such that they could not but
endear him to a very wide circle of friends. The self-
sacrificing devotion with which he gave his time and
abilities to the practice of his profession, regardless of
pecuniary emoluments, was deemed worthy of public
recognition, and he on several occasions received sub-
stantial marks of public favor, among others a solid
silver tea service presented by the people and the
medical profession of the Eastern Townships, as an
evidence of their appreciation of his efforts to succor
| the impecunious and afflicted. On another occasion he
| was the recipient of an elegant gold watch and chain,
ee
Er ere etic Sec eigtionn
118 THE LATE DOCTOR WORTHINGTON.
tendered to mark the appreciation of his energetic and
successful efforts to stamp out an epidemic of that
most loathsome of diseases, the smallpox.
In 1837 Doctor Worthington served as a private in
Captain Le Mesurier’s company of the Quebec regiment
of Volunteer Light Infantry; he likewise saw active
service in a professional capacity in both Fenian raids.
Doctor Worthington frequently contributed to medi-
cal periodicals, notably the Montreal Medical Journal,
and wielded a most facile pen: his descriptions were
always point:d and terse, never marked by space-
writing or verbosity. During 1894 he was a frequent
contributor to THE MEpDIcAL AGE, and his most inter-
esting ‘“‘Reminiscences’’ of medical study and practice
of half a century ago excited the admiration of all
who were fortunate enough to peruse them; they con-
stituted exquisite bits of word-painting and quaint
humor, and were widely copied, securing only the
superlatives of favorable criticism. These sketches
were penned at odd moments, during the intervals
when he was free from suffering, for he had for some §
time been a helpless invalid; indeed, the last contribu-
tion, ‘‘ Watson and Bell’s Section,” was written in bed.
As his physicia! condition became worse, even the
delights of authorship were denied—‘‘ one more pleasure |
taken away,” he wrote the editor of the AcE, “and I
now look forward almost with eagerness to the]
THE LATE DOCTOR WORTHINGTON. 119
“petic and
moment when I shall lay down the burden of life.”
> of that
His death was not unexpected—it was understood by
himself and family that the end might come at any
moment. He was, as he often remarked, “weary,
weary, beyond expression,” Happily he was spared
great suffering, and no little child in its mother’s arms
ever went to sleep with greater peace and restfulness
than that which marked the passing of this grand and
noble character ‘‘beyond the dark river.’
He will be greatly missed, not alone by his family
and by the friends made through THe MepicaL AGE,
| but by the entire medical profession of Canada, of
which he was so distinguished an ornament. Indeed,
his whole life was intimately interwoven with the
medical history of Canada, and was an integral part
| of the history of the Province of Quebec. It is the lot
of few men to be so noble, so distinguished, so loved,
and so missed.
private in
> regiment
aw active
ian raids.
d to medi-
ul Journal,
ions were
by space-
a frequent
most inter-
id practice
tion of all
; they con-
ynd quaint
x only the
se sketches
e intervals
id for some §
st contribu-
itten in bed. &
e, even the
ore pleasure f
\cE, “and I
ess to the
Live Music
Archive
Librivox
Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland
Museum of Art
Internet
Arcade
Console Living Room
Open Library
American
Libraries
TV News
Understanding
9/11